Little Innocent
by A-D-E-E-E-R
Summary: Innocent was never a word used when describing Alex, even when she was younger. Always with dirty knees and skinned palms, and a face of permanent, loveable mischievousness. Some called her strange, others extraordinary, but with three specific Holmeses bringing her up, one thing she would never be, was normal. In the end, who would want to be? Prequel to Exception.
1. Baby

**Disclaimer: I do not own Sherlock or anything related to the show. All rights go to the BBC. I own Alex :)**

**Author's Note: So here is the prequel to Exception! If you haven't read that, it will make this quite difficult to understand, but I'm sure you could muddle through if you wanted to :) This first chapter is a little shorter than what the others are going to be, but it seemed like a good time to stop. **

**Enjoy:**

He was going to break her. He knew it. He was going to shift an inch and there'd be a sudden snap and his sister's newborn daughter would be in two pieces. Then he would be cut up into one hundred little pieces and scattered around the country by the said sister and elder brother.

"Sherlock, just relax. You look like you're holding a bomb," May joked.

Her voice was quiet and croaky, having not had any sleep the night before. It had been the first night she had brought her baby home from the hospital and it had been constant crying.

"I'd much rather be holding a bomb. At least they're predictable," Sherlock quipped.

His arms were stiff around the little body he was holding. Alessandra had been asleep the entire time she had been lovingly handed into Sherlock's cold and unfeeling embrace.

"Make sure you –"

"Hold its head, I know," Sherlock cut Mycroft off with a sneer. "I _have _done research, you know."

"Boys, stop. I've got a headache," May groaned, rubbing a hand over her face. "And you might wake Alex up."

Mycroft and Sherlock exchanged a look that their sister missed. It communicated the same thing, and was the look that meant they needed to intervene.

"You need to sleep, Maybelline," Mycroft said sternly.

She gave him a weary look, "I need to be here when Alex wakes up."

"We can cope with the infant for a few hours while you catch up on your rest."

Sherlock's eyes widened in alarm.

May sighed, "I'm so tired... Are you sure you two will be okay? Do you know what to do if she starts fussing?"

"Of course," Sherlock scoffed, meaning completely the opposite.

"We aren't completely incompetent," Mycroft added. "After all, it isn't like it does much."

After some deliberation, May agreed to go upstairs in one of her many rooms at Mycroft's house.

The boys sat in silence for a few minutes.

"It is still _breathing_, isn't it?" Mycroft asked, paling a little. Of course the thing would wait until it was in their care to die.

"Yes."

"Good. I –" a sharp ringing cut Mycroft's next sentence short, and he reached for the phone.

"Shut it up!" Sherlock hissed, glancing down at the baby warily.

Mycroft swiftly left the room with his mobile, leaving Sherlock alone... with a newborn.

He shifted uncomfortably again. Didn't the Prime Minister know that Mycroft had babysitting duties now?

In the silence, and when Sherlock had gotten bored of examining the contents in Mycroft's living room, he decided that he would examine the thing in his arms and catalogue its features. His sister seemed awfully enamoured with it already, and Sherlock knew that he would get a hysterical phone call if the thing were to go missing, so it was better to be prepared.

Its entire body was smaller than average, its little finger the size of one of Sherlock's nails. Its eyes were screwed tightly shut, and its lips were a pale pink. She had few strands of thin black hair. He supposed that it was rather more attractive than other babies he had seen, but it slept much too long to have taken after any of the Holmes qualities. That probably meant that it was stupid as well, excellent. So much for having a clean slate to teach, it would fall asleep by the time he got to the second sentence.

"I don't know why she called you Alessandra," he mumbled. "That's just cruel. And she'd probably be over the moon that I'm talking to you even though you can't hear me. She's like that, your mother. Not all there. I think our parents used up their genius on your uncle Mycroft and me..."

Sherlock trailed off. Uncle Mycroft... but that made him Uncle Sherlock. He was an uncle...

He sat there, straight-backed, stunned for one of the first times in his life. He, William Sherlock Scott Holmes, was an uncle. He was holding his baby niece that he was going to have to help raise. Soon it was going to start talking and walking and eating and going to school and go to swimming lessons and have a bedtime and become a teenager and be moody and get a boyfriend or girlfriend and then go to college and university and it was going to waltz back in to see him with a wave saying, 'Hey, Uncle Sherlock, what's new?' and he was going to be expected to reply and –

A gurgling noise forced Sherlock's racing thoughts to stop. He closed his eyes, prayed that his ears were deceiving him, and dared a look down.

It was the first time he had seen her eyes. A soft, gentle blue. They were tired and heavy, but bore the traces of a smile that she wasn't yet strong enough to give. Her mouth parted in attempt to talk, but the gurgling noise was made again. She looked content.

She. Not it.

Sherlock pushed down the feeling of panic and, not knowing what else to do, softly brushed his finger against her tiny pink hand. She looked at him almost curiously, and opened her palm, enclosing his finger between all five of hers. Her grip was extremely weak, but it made Sherlock smile despite himself.

"Maybe there's hope for you yet."

"Maybe for both of you," Mycroft's voice spoke up from the doorway.

Sherlock immediately withdrew his hand and scowled at him, "Aren't you busy with something?"

Mycroft ignored him, "I knew you would warm up to it."

"Her," Sherlock corrected automatically before berating himself, "Damn it! What do you care anyway? Sentiment is not an advantage, remember?"

Mycroft made his way over to his brother and niece, his face unreadable as he brushed a strand of Alex's hair away from her forehead.

"Maybe we can allow ourselves one exception."

* * *

**What do you think? The next chapter should be up relatively quickly and will be much longer :)**

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**Abby**

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	2. Snow Day With Mycroft

**Disclaimer: I do not own Sherlock or anything related to the show. All rights go to the BBC. I own Alex :)**

**Author's Note: Hello :) Not much to say today other than - I hope you like this one! Oh, and I'm taking prompts and suggestions on board.**

**Enjoy:**

_Alex aged one and a half._

Typical. On the one day that Mycroft Holmes actually has a day off, his sister unloads baby duties on him, saying that she had to 'meet someone'. And in response to Mycroft's perfectly reasonable protest of, 'but can't Sherlock look after her', Maybelline had raised an eyebrow at him and forced Alex's little hand into his.

The said child was currently sat up in her fold-up chair, examining a plastic rabbit with curiosity, turning it over and over between her fingers. She was quiet, unlike other children her age. She just seemed to watch. That was fine with Mycroft, who needed all the peace and quiet he could get to finish his report for the prime minister for their meeting tomorrow.

_I regret to inform you that the error is definitely on your end. I advise you sir, to thoroughly screen the – _

"Thnow!"

Mycroft glanced up from his computer. Alex had now shuffled out of her chair and was swaying a little precariously on her feet. She was using the wall for support and was pointing out of the window.

"Yes," Mycroft replied patiently. "Snow. It's usual for this time of year."

Alex' mouth curved into a comical 'o' and looked back and forth between her uncle and the window.

"Thnow!"

Mycroft gave her a nod and tried to go back to his work, but every time he began to type, he kept losing focus and letting his eyes stray back to his niece, still looking at the falling snow outside. Convincing himself that she wasn't going to suddenly acquire the power of flight and escape through the glass, Mycroft forced his attention back to the report.

That was until a quiet little voice asked, "We go thnow?"

"I'm busy Alex. When you're with Sherlock tomorrow, ask him. He'll take you out in the snow," Mycroft told her.

"But..." Alex mouth open and closed again as she tried to figure out the right vocabulary to word what she wanted to say, but found none. She turned back to the window in frustration.

Mycroft got halfway through the next sentence before a thought struck him.

"Alex?"

She looked at him and cocked her head to the side.

"Have you seen the snow before?"

"Noooo," she dragged out dejectedly. "We go?"

Mycroft sighed. Taking Alex out in the snow for the first time would mean that he would be equal with Sherlock – who had taken her to her first zoo. And it wasn't like he was going to get very far with this report when Alex was there.

"Fine," he replied with a mock groan.

Alex's eyes widened and her face split into a smile, revealing the two teeth that had begun to grow at the front. She immediately hurried away from the window and ran flat-footed over to Mycroft. He raised his eyebrows as she hugged his legs tightly and awkwardly patted her hair. She beamed up at him and grabbed his hand.

"We go! We go!"

He allowed himself to be 'pulled up' by her and 'dragged' over to the door. She was pulling on her wellies and reaching for the handle when Mycroft stopped her. She pouted at him.

"Don't give me that look. If you go out there dressed like that, I'd be sending you back to your mother as an ice sculpture of a child," Mycroft bent down and rummaged through the enormous bag May had dropped off with Alex. "Fortunately, your mother is an expert in the field of overpacking, so I should be able to find some warm clothes for you."

No sooner had the words left his mouth than he retrieved the aforementioned items. Pint-sized gloves, hat and scarf. He handed them to Alex and she threw them on impatiently, bouncing on her feet. Tying the scarf a little tighter around her neck and zipping up her coat, Mycroft nodded for her to open the door. Alex gave a little squeal of delight.

Even Mycroft had to admit, it was quite a picturesque scene. The snow was falling thickly and blanketing the ground with a thick layer of white carpet, and the minority that didn't hit the ground, gathered snugly on the naked branches of the trees.

Alex hovered in the doorway, smiling but unsure how to proceed.

"Go on, you wanted to come out here," Mycroft reminded her, a little sharper than he would have liked.

Seeing that she was still hesitant, he stepped out into the snow, and lifted his foot back up, leaving a deep depression.

"Just step on it."

Alex held out her gloved hand to Mycroft for support, and he held her hand as she stepped into his footprint. He felt her hand tighten momentarily around his as some of the cold fell into the top of her red wellies, but instead of crying, she laughed and slipped the shoe off and upside down.

"Foot wet now," she grinned a little goofily.

"Would you like to go over to the bench where it's shallower?" Mycroft asked, seeing the predicament Alex was in regarding her small size and the deep snow.

She nodded eagerly and giggled as Mycroft slipped his hands under her arms and lifted her up onto his hip. He then trudged across the lawn with ease, admittedly exaggerating his steps for Alex's enjoyment.

"Wish tall," Alex said, amongst some other childish babble.

"Given your height now, I don't see you being overly tall in the future, I'm afraid," Mycroft replied, sweeping a layer of snow off the bench and setting her down on it, making sure her coat protected her from the melted snow on the wood.

He sat next to her, watching her reaction as a flake glided down from the sky and landed on the bridge of her nose. She almost went cross-eyed trying to properly see it, and when she went to touch it, it instantly melted. She looked to her uncle in surprise, a little gasp bubbling from her.

"Your body heat melts the snow. It turns it back into water. See?" he gently brushed his finger over the flakes that peppered Alex's coat. She gazed in fascination as they too melted. "But if you compact it, it stays in solid form for longer. Like this."

He scooped a small handful from the grass and patted it down to make a snowball. He handed it to Alex, who took it like he had just handed her the key to Buckingham Palace.

"Ball!" she cried, and threw it into the air. It, of course, flew up, and smashed on impact back in Alex's palm. She frowned. "Ball broke. I make?"

Mycroft nodded and held his arm out to the ground in invitation, "Have a go."

She climbed down from the bench, laughing when she landed heavily in the snow, causing more to fall into her shoes. She mirrored Mycroft and tried to scoop up the snow, but it ended up as a sort of pyramid shape. The top half broke off when she tried to lift it up, so she was effectively left with a handful of snow.

"Why?" she asked, a question she had become fond of recently.

"Why do people make snowballs?"

Alex nodded.

"Well, mostly for fun. Some people use them to build ice structures such as igloos, some tend to throw them at each other, and some –" Mycroft was cut off as a bundle of snow hit him square in the face.

Alex covered her mouth with her hand, trying not to giggle and trying to discern whether or not her uncle was angry. Mycroft's face was impassive as he brushed the snow from his face and coat collar, his eyes expressionless on Alex's. Her giggles stopped.

"Mad?"

He didn't respond. He wasn't angry with her in the slightest – Sherlock and May had done much worse things to him when they were Alex's age. It was difficult to be angry with the small dark-haired girl, especially since she depended and adored him as much as she did. He had never been angry with her, so he was interested to see how she would react if she thought he was.

Her brilliant blue eyes misted with tears and her bottom lip wobbled. Her already shaky legs went weak with emotion, causing her to collapse into a heap in the snow.

"So'y, so'y, so'y," she repeated heart-brokenly.

Mycroft's eyes widened – he had definitely not expected that!

"Uh, um, Alex, uh," he stammered. "I'm not – I'm not angry with you."

Alex looked up, though her sobs didn't subside.

"I was just observing," _idiot, Mycroft, she doesn't know that word. _"Um, examining – _playing."_

The toddler wiped her eyes, "Game?"

"Yes!" Mycroft replied eagerly. "I was just playing a game."

"No mad?"

"No," Mycroft gave a sigh of relief as she slowly stopped crying. "Come on, let's get you up out of the snow. You're soaking."

Alex wrapped her arms around Mycroft's neck as he carried her back to the house, and clung to him as he removed her coat, gloves, hat and scarf. She only let go of him when she fell asleep an hour later on his lap in his armchair by the fire, her cheek resting between his shoulder and neck.

He found himself absent-mindedly rubbing her back as she hiccupped and sniffled as she dozed. He found it quite therapeutic, holding a completely reliant, completely vulnerable child whilst staring into the flames.

He had so much to worry about. His job made him see the worst sides of life, and he was the orchestrator of some of it. Though he tried to convince himself otherwise, it still hurt when he wrote at the bottom of his plans and schemes – _Collateral Damage Expected. _The little girl in his arms didn't care about the things he had done or was about to do. She didn't see him as the cold apathetic person that he was. She was too young and too innocent to see any of that. She was the only person in the world that neither feared, resented, nor respected him. She just unconditionally loved him.

Though, he didn't let that mean too much to him. After all, she loved that scraggly teddy that she wouldn't sleep without unconditionally.

"Mycroft, I -" May stopped suddenly in the doorway as she saw her dozing daughter.

"You're late. That's not like you," Mycroft remarked in low voice.

May ran a hand through her unkempt hair and sat opposite him in the other armchair, tucking her legs up beneath her. She looked so childish, sat like that, chewing on her sleeve. It was hard to believe that Mycroft was holding _her _child.

"I, uh, got caught up," she gave him a fake smile, then diverted her attention to Alex and gave a genuine one. "She seems content."

Mycroft glanced down at the toddler resting on his chest, "Yes she does, doesn't she. I wish I could say the same about her mother."

May sighed and seemed to be fighting an impulse to roll her eyes. Perhaps that would seem too immature for a mother to be doing.

"It's been a long day. I just want to go home, have a long bath and watch a Disney film with Alex in our bed."

"Well you're free to take her whenever you like."

May leant forward and gently rubbed Alex's back, "Hey sweetie, come on, pull yourself around."

Alex groaned and lifted her head up, rubbing her eyes tiredly, "Mum?"

"Hello. Time to go home now," May lifted a semi-conscious Alex onto her hip.

Mycroft ignored the cool chill where Alex's warmth had once been.

"Don't wanna," Alex whined.

"We'll watch One Hundred and One Dalmatians," May tempted with a teasing raise of her eyebrow.

Alex shook her head, now more awake, "Back Cordon!"

"Black Cauldron? If you want to. It's a bit scary for a girl your age isn't it?"

"No," she again shook her head emphatically, making large, clumsy movements with her arms. "Sher'ock dagons!"

May looked confused, so Mycroft elaborated.

"Apparently Sherlock does an adequate dragon voice. She was talking about it earlier."

"Ohh, that's why you like the dragons from the Black Cauldron."

Alex nodded.

May smiled, "That's sweet. Anyway, we'd better get home before the snow gets any worse. Say bye to Uncle Mycroft."

"Bye-bye!" Alex waved at him. "See you soon!"

As Mycroft walked to the front door with them, he thought,

_Yes, I don't doubt you will._

Best hope he didn't have another report to complete on that day.

* * *

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**Abby**

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	3. New Buddy

**Disclaimer: I do not own Sherlock or anything related to the show. All rights go to the BBC. I own Alex :)**

**Author's Note: Oops, thought I'd already uploaded this. Sorry guys! It was only when I was writing the next chapter of Exception that I realised. Sorry! And for those who have read Exception, a familiar face in this chapter!**

**Enjoy:**

_Alex aged 4._

School was nothing like it looked on the TV. Alex had come to that conclusion. There wasn't any chatting around the lockers or singing about what the weather was like that day, or even anyone smiling. Looking around the playground, Alex saw that a smile was rare. Granted, it was a cold, miserable Tuesday morning in the middle of October but someone could at least grin!

Alex sighed and sat down at the little wooden picnic bench in the far corner of the yard, and began to inspect the chips in the wood. There was nothing better to do. It would be so much better and more beneficial to be back at home. Her mother had briefly kissed her on the cheek and ushered her through the gates before taking off again in that impatient, wild way of hers. Alex should have just bolted back home after that.

It always made Alex wonder what her mother was doing to make her look so stressed when Alex was dropped off at one of her uncles' or at school. It must be something taxing because every time she came to pick her up, she was like a drawn, limp doll that just wanted to snuggle up at watch DVDs with the blinds shut.

Perhaps it was better not to wonder. Sherlock had told Alex that. She, in turn, translated that as 'that's grown-up stuff and shouldn't be meddled with by me… like coffee.'

Sherlock wasn't the only one to offer advice in her family though. In fact, just last night Alex's mother had taken her aside and told her firmly that it was time to start making friends and fitting in at school. She then slapped Sherlock when he insinuated that her daughter had the social skills of a sociopathic leper.

Just the thought of having to mix with that group of crusty-nosed, chocolate faced, screaming rabble made Alex's nose curl – an unfortunate habit picked up from Mycroft. Sherlock had told her that she needed to grow out of it before she became a snob. Alex didn't know what a snob was, but didn't like the way it sounded on her tongue so tried to stop mirroring Mycroft.

"Hi Alex," a voice said from behind her.

Alex barely turned at the tones of Mrs Duarte and shuffled over as the woman sat next to her on the bench.

"What do you want?" Alex asked dully.

"Alex," Mrs Duarte scolded. "You shouldn't speak to people like that. No one will want to be friends with you if you're rude to them. And you won't be a very happy little girl is no one will be your friend, will you?"

Alex shrugged, "Most of my family are rude to each other and they're pretty happy."

Mrs Duarte paused uncomfortably for a moment and had to think carefully what to say next, "Yes, well, that's at home, but _here _we don't like people who are rude to other people so next time when someone sits next to you, you should just say 'hello'."

"Hello," Alex echoed emotionlessly.

"There's no need to say it now, we're already in a conversation."

Alex groaned, "Make your mind up."

"Alex."

"Sorry."

Mrs Duarte pursed her lips, "Come on now, you don't really want to be sat here all on your own –"

_Yes I do._

"—go and play with the others in the sand pit."

"I don't want –"

"Ah-ah," the teacher held her hand up, stemming Alex's response. "Go and play."

Glumly, Alex slumped her shoulders in defeat and swung one leg over the bench, then the other, and sent a pleading glance back to Mrs Duarte. She got a firm nod in the direction of the other children, and Alex pouted, standing up and dragging her feet over to the sandpit.

"What are _you _doing here?" was the immediate response of the group.

"I was forced to play with you," Alex replied glumly.

Jessica, a blonde-haired girl with pigtails and permanent pout, put her hands on her hips.

"There's no room for you. You'll crush our sandcastle," she pointed proudly to the mound of sand with a pathetic flag in the top.

Alex tilted her head in confusion, "Where's the moat? Or the portcullis? Or the battlements? That's not a castle. That's a hill with a flag in. A golf course, maybe. Definitely not a castle."

"Yes it is!" Jessica cried in outrage, picking up a plastic doll and forcing her into the top of the 'castle'. "And that's me, I'm the princess. You can be my slave girl."

Alex leaned forward to inspect the doll, "Isn't she too pretty to be you?"

Jessica promptly burst into tears.

* * *

Alex sat on the chairs outside the head teacher's office, swinging her legs and half-heartedly listening to whatever the woman was droning on about.

"You _can't _just go around being mean to people, Alex."

"I wasn't being mean," Alex defended. "I was telling the truth, like you always tell me."

Mrs Duarte sighed, "But I also say that if you don't have anything nice to say, don't say anything at all."

"_But _that would be being two-faced because I would be saying one thing but meaning the other!"

"Not if you didn't say anything at all," Mrs Duarte replied patronizingly.

"But then I'd just be a… a plank!" Alex cried.

Mrs Duarte frowned in confusion, "What do you mean, Alex?"

"If I just stood there and said nothing and did nothing, I'd just be a plank…" Alex's eyes shifted out a focus as a thought struck her. "… Actually, it would be quite fun being a plank… I could blunt-force-trauma people–"

"Okay!" Mrs Duarte quickly shouted, ignoring the incredulous look the secretary was giving Alex. "Well, it's obvious that you don't get along with people your own age."

Alex nodded, "Finally something we agree on. My uncle says it's because I'm used to talking to intelligent people so when I talk to people here, it's like _they're _all planks."

"Right, thanks for that," Mrs Duarte said under her breath. "As I was saying, since you don't mingle well with other children your age, how would you feel about being someone older's buddy?"

There was a pause.

"Buddy…?" Alex said the word slowly and uncomfortably, having never come across it before.

"Yes. Someone from the next class up to play with at break times."

"Umm, okay. But if I don't like them, I'm not going to pretend to be their friend. Unless they become my enemy."

"What?" Mrs Duarte asked exasperatedly, then wishing she hadn't.

Alex leaned forward, whispering, "Because you keep your friends close," she leant in further. "But your enemies closer."

Having being sent out to play in the yard whilst Mrs Duarte found this new-fangled 'buddy', Alex curled up in the corner of the yard, skimming tiny stones across the gravel. She wondered what her family would say if she murdered the teacher… probably hide the body first and scold later. It wouldn't be too hard to pull off, but Sherlock was taking her to the museum at the weekend and she doubted she would still be able to go if she committed murder. She reckoned a few stars would be taken from her chart if she did that.

"Alex," said the very person she was plotting against.

The girl looked up tiresomely, then jolted somewhat at the little boy standing moodily by the teacher's side, just a year older than her.

"This is Logan," Mrs Duarte snatched Logan's hand into hers. "Logan, this is Alex. This is your new buddy!"

"Don't want a stupid buddy," Logan mumbled, pulling his hand away.

Mrs Duarte gave him a stern look, "Do you want to have the planet book at reading time this afternoon?"

Logan folded his arms with a scowl but remained silent.

"Good," Mrs Duarte said, then turned to Alex. "You two be good now. Get to know each other. Tell me how you get on later, I'm going to have to shoot off to a meeting. Cheerio!"

"I'd like to actually shoot her," Alex was meant to whisper, but it came out at a normal volume.

Logan looked vaguely surprised but nodded and maintained his scowl.

"So… what do you want to do? I suppose you want to play with… dolls or something," Logan shivered at the word.

"Sexism at its finest."

Logan's jaw dropped, eyes widening. She seemed to have captured one hundred percent of his attention.

"What?"

"You said," Logan giggled nervously. "You said 'sex'!"

Alex blew out a breath, deadpanning, "Are you really the most intelligent one they could come up with?"

"Hey!"

Alex shrugged, looking over Logan's shoulder at the girls loudly playing hopscotch with their frilly skirts and neat plaits bouncing with every step. She glanced down at her grey trousers, rolling them up to her knees. Her legs looked ridiculous, with a dot-to-dot array of bruises and gravel indents from the wild few days she had trekking across the edge of the yard, nothing like their almost powder-like legs. Alex narrowed her eyes in thought.

"You want something to do?" Alex asked.

Logan snapped out of the daydream he had strayed into in Alex's silence, "What, yeah. Yeah, what you got in mind?"

"Fields out of bounds isn't it?"

"Yeah. Rain last night made it too muddy to walk on without slipping over."

Alex grinned, "Good. Race you to the bottom."

* * *

Sherlock Holmes was updating his blog _The Science of Deduction _when he got the call. It was his sister, saying that she was held up at work – whatever counted as work for her at the moment – and that Alex needed picking up early from school.

"Is she ill?" Sherlock asked warily, caught somewhere between concern and not wanting to deal with child-vomit.

_"No idea. They just said she'll need a change of clothes. You've got some at your flat, haven't you?"_

"Yes, but why can't you send Mycroft? He's closer to the school than I am."

_"She specifically asked for you if I wasn't able to get there. Look, I'm going to have to go. Thanks Sherlie!"_

Sherlock growled at the nickname and ended the call. There would only be one reason why Alex would _specifically _ask for him over Mycroft – if she was in trouble. She knew he was the lenient one and Mycroft was the lecturing one. She was smart enough to notice and exploit that fact.

He just hoped she hadn't murdered someone, he was rather looking forward to the museum visit at the weekend.

Alex tried very hard to seem like she was listening to the irate woman standing in front of her, having been pulled out of her meeting early… to deal with Alex. But truth be told, Alex wasn't listening to a word of what she was saying, and when she caught Logan's eye over the woman's shoulder, it became very hard to repress a grin.

"You think this is funny do you?!" Mrs Duarte exploded.

Alex contorted her face to make her muscles relax from their smiling position, averting her gaze from Logan and focussing on picking dried mud from her sleeve. Mrs Duarte batted her hand away.

"No, leave that on! I want your father to see how naughty you've been."

"Firstly, Sherlock's my uncle. _Secondly_, I haven't been naughty. We just got a bit muddy, right Logan?" Alex prompted.

He nodded rapidly, "Yeah, we both fell over."

"And rolled twenty yards through knee-deep mud to the very bottom of the field until you both look like you've been swimming through the sewers?" Mrs Duarte continued sceptically.

"Yup… and we wouldn't really be _swimming _through sewers. It would sort of be a wading movement," Alex caught look of the woman's reddening face and quickly backtracked. "Which I suppose... isn't… really… important."

The last word was whispered.

Mrs Duarte opened her mouth to begin another rant, but was cut short by the buzz of the school intercom.

"This will be your uncle, Alex. Let's see what he has to say about this," she said and held in the button for the door. "Come on in Mr Holmes."

Alex kept her head down as she heard Sherlock's footsteps, filthy black curls obscuring her face. She felt Logan quickly hop onto the seat next to her and hold her hand.

"Will you get into trouble?" he whispered childishly.

"Dunno yet," she whispered back, listening to the headteacher telling her uncle about the escapades down the hill.

She frowned when she didn't hear a response from Sherlock, and dared a look up through her hair. She was startled when she realised that he was trying not to laugh.

"Alex," he said. "Come on home, we're going to have a long chat about this."

He gave her a covert wink, telling her to go along with it. She played the part well, having played it in front of her mother and Mycroft since she could talk. She slumped her shoulders and dragged her school bag dejectedly behind her as she walked to her uncle's side.

"Bye, Logan," she bade solemnly. "Sorry, Mrs Duarte."

The woman pursed her lips.

Sherlock put a firm hand on her shoulder, "Come on you. I'm sorry for any inconvenience Alex may have caused today. It won't happen again."

Alex nodded as Sherlock took her hand and led her back down the corridor and out of the school door. Once they were on the main road, Alex perked up again, picking up her feet and walking with a spring in her step.

"What a female dog," she remarked.

Sherlock looked down at her incredulously, "I honestly don't know where you get half of your vocabulary from."

"So you aren't angry?" Alex checked as they continued to walk further down the street.

"No," Sherlock smirked. "I did much worse at school and I'm sure you will in the next few years. Besides, Mycroft's sending one of his fancy cars and the look on his face when he sees the state of it when you get out will be priceless."

"The one with the white seats?"

"Yep," Sherlock replied happily, popping the 'p'.

Alex grinned, "But what do I say if he's angry with me for being so muddy?"

Sherlock shrugged, "Just say you fell."

"And rolled twenty yards through knee-deep mud to the very bottom of the field until I look like I've been swimming through the sewers?" Alex asked, echoing her teacher's words.

"You wouldn't exactly be _swimming_ through sewers."

"That's what I said!"

"You'd be more–"

"Wading!" they both finished at the same time.

Sherlock smiled, "Great minds think alike."

"You think I could have a mind like yours when I'm older?"

"Maybe."

They came to a stop at the sleek black car parked on the edge of the road.

"Go on then. The filthier you get this car, the more expensive the gift I'll buy you from the museum gift shop," Sherlock said.

Alex's eyes sparkled, "Deal!" she shouted, and clambered in.

**HUGE thank you to: animechick247, mercenary2. 0, Bunnyrabbit100, OnceUponADeduction, FlewandFlied, kitty kat wings, LoyalElf, shnuffeluv, BookPond, ShatteredBlue221, and rycbar15 for reviewing!**

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	4. Haunted House

**Disclaimer: I do not own Sherlock or anything related to the show. All rights go to the BBC. I own Alex :)**

**Author's Note: So sorry for the wait but I have been ill and I couldn't look at my computer screen until a few days ago. Thanks for sticking with me!**

_Alex is six years old._

Alessandra Holmes was determined. And so when she wanted to do something, there was no way on God's Earth that she was going to be stopped. Especially when she was left with the nanny. It was only on rare occasions that she was left with the elderly woman that lived a few streets away – when all three other Holmeses were busy – but it was time that Alex thrived on. And that's where she was going today.

She played the part well, saying a dutiful goodbye to her mother at the front door, accepting the kiss on the cheek with a solemn smile. And for full effect, Alex even stood on her tiptoes to reach the high window in the living room and gave a sad little wave.

But as soon as her mother's car rounded the corner, Alex grinned impishly.

"I'm going out Mrs McFall!" Alex called as she pulled on her wellies.

The old woman came shuffling into the living room, "Where to dearie?"

"Just out with friends, Mum said I could. They only live 'round the corner," Alex beamed up at her innocently and remembered what she had rehearsed. "We're gonna play Crash Bandicoot and eat jammy dodgers and take the dog out for a walk."

Poor gullible Mrs McFall smiled tenderly, "Well you have a good time and be back when you're supposed to."

"I will, Mrs McFall," Alex promised.

The woman cooed, "You're a lovely girl, Alex. A real credit to your mother."

Alex stopped midway pulling her Parka coat on, guilt bubbling in her stomach. This was the bit she always hated: the guilt. It would wear off once she was out with her friends. She just had to work up the courage to actually get out of the door first.

"Go on then, little miss," Mrs McFall encouraged. "See you soon!"

That was when Alex forced herself out of the door and took off at a run down the driveway without looking back. She ran down the street and rounded the corner near the post office. Her face split into a beam as she saw her gaggle of friends stood waiting for her.

"Where've you been Al'?!" Logan exclaimed. "We thought you weren't going to turn up!"

Alex slowed down, stopping next to them and catching her breath, "Yeah, I thought Mum would never leave," she nodded to Raz and Lee. "Hi guys."

Raz was going through that all-important stage, and with him being the eldest (eleven) and Alex being the youngest, he just nodded to her as if she were merely an acquaintance. Not that she liked him much anyway after he mangled her bike. Meh, it got her a new one anyway.

Lee smiled back at her.

"Got my bike?" she asked.

He nodded, wheeling it out from behind the salt bin. She took hold of the handlebars and ran her hands over the frame fondly.

"So where we going? You said it was going to be brilliant," she gave them a dubious look. "Are we going to the woods 'cause that's so _boring _now!"

Raz smirked smugly, "No, not the woods. I've got somewhere _way _cooler."

The other three leaned in, listening raptly. Raz leant his bike against the wall and began his conspiratorial whisper.

"You three 'eard about the ol' boarding house near Clover's Footbridge?"

They shook their heads.

"Well," Raz continued importantly. "Rumours 'round the yard at Big School are it's," he paused for effect, "…_haunted."_

Logan and Lee grinned as Alex gasped excitedly, "Really? Like really actually haunted?"

"Yup," Raz leant back against the wall coolly, folding his arms. "100%. They say there're flies and everything around it. No-one's told the adults after what 'appened with the ghost that turned out to be a dustsheet. And no one dares go in, see? This is our chance to move up the rankings on the street. You in?"

Logan and Lee readily agreed, Lee rubbing his hands together in anticipation. Alex, however, began to hesitate.

Raz groaned, "Come on, Alex. Don't let the team down. We need you 'cause you'll look innocent an' stuff since you're only a kid –"

"I'm not a kid!" Alex retorted hotly. "I'm not! It's just… Clover's Footbridge is pretty far away."

Raz scoffed, "See! You are just a little kid. I don't even know why you're in this gang."

"Whoa, chill Raz," Logan stepped in, putting an arm around Alex. "Give her a break. She's younger than all of us, we should be looking out for her not –"

"No!" Alex wiggled out from under his arm. "I'll come. I'm not a kid, and I don't need looking after. I'll even go in first."

Raz nodded, impressed but still disbelieving, "Come on then 'olmes. Prove you belong with us. Race ya!"

He hopped on his bike and set off, the other two boys following behind him, yelling in glee. Alex though had a little trouble getting her bike started, and she looked down to see that someone had chained the pedal to the spokes.

She growled, ripping off the cheap plastic chain and throwing it on the ground. The boys were now out of sight, but Alex wasn't worried. Uncle Sherlock had shown her every part of London, every hideaway and every nook. And there was more than one way to get to the boarding house.

* * *

Alex nearly swerved off the path in laughter when she caught up to the trio of boys – Raz's face was priceless. The shortcut had worked like a treat. But she knew her place, and kept to the back of the group. She swore she saw a flash of pride in Logan's face.

The footbridge rattled as their bikes trundled over the wooden planks and they skidded to a stop, discarding their bikes on the grassy verge. The boarding house was a little walk away from the road surrounded by trees. In the past, it had been a beautiful holidaying spot, but now the carefully trimmed foliage had grown wild and abundant, giving it the perfect haunted house factor.

"Ooh, looks creepy," Alex said with a nervous giggle.

"And it's getting dark," Lee pointed to the overcast sky.

"Scared?" Logan asked, tickling Alex's side playfully.

She swatted his hand away with a pout.

"Right, off you go then 'olmes," Raz interrupted the moment. "Go on."

Alex swallowed, looking up at the decrepit house. Most of the windows were smashed and the door was hanging off its hinges. Inside was completely dark. Alex didn't like the dark. But she couldn't be seen as weak in the gang. It was only something a child that age could understand. It wasn't a circle of friends, it was a _pride_. A pack. You don't show weakness or the pack moves on without you.

She cleared her throat and nodded. Raz held out his hand towards the building in invitation and gave her a shove. She stumbled slightly in her little red wellies but immediately righted herself with as much dignity as a six year old could possess.

Casting a look back at Logan, who smiled in reassurance, she forced her chin up and walked over to the door. It creaked on its rusty hinges as she pushed it open. It was so dark and scary to the little girl, that it was physically painful to plaster a smile to her face when she turned to the others and motioned for them to come in.

"Nah, go further in first!" Raz shouted, seemingly enjoying himself.

"How much further?"

"To the top o' the stairs!"

Alex nodded unsurely and began to mount the steps. Halfway up she wondered if they would hold her weight, but she wasn't too concerned about that. That was adult talk. She was a little preoccupied worrying about the ghost under the floorboards that might eat her.

She looked down at the floor in worry, and frowned. There were muddy footprints. Uncle Sherlock had told her to watch out for these vital clues when they had been searching for Mum in hide and seek. She parroted her uncle and wiped her finger along the mud. It was dry. Alex let out a sigh of relief – that meant they were gone.

However, when she got to the top of the stairs, a horrendous smell hit her. She gagged but managed to keep her strawberry sandwiches inside her. That was when she noticed the buzzing. She slapped her cheek, feeling something fuzzy there. The buzzing was getting louder the further into the heart of the house she walked. It was as if she was hypnotised as she pushed open the door on the landing.

* * *

Sherlock was laid back in Lestrade's chair in his office while the detective inspector was out chasing up boring people for boring paperwork. When Lestrade returned, Sherlock groaned.

"Please tell me you have something half interesting for me," he said dramatically.

"Murder," Lestrade replied simply, picking up his coat. "A group of kids found a body in an old boarding house near Clover's… something…"

"Clover's Footbridge?" Sherlock asked.

Lestrade nodded.

"Relatively near my sister's house…" Sherlock trailed off thoughtfully. "This group of kids, what details do you have on them?"

"Err, three older boys and a younger girl I think," Lestrade replied a little confusedly. "The boys ran off when uniforms arrived though."

Sherlock groaned and slammed his fist down on the desk, "For God's sake!"

* * *

Alex decided she didn't like the frowning police officer that kept placing a hideous blanket over her shoulders. He kept looking at her weirdly, not like Lestrade did at all. She was on her own now; Logan, Lee and Raz had scarpered, Logan being dragged away by Raz. She had begged the officers not to ring her mother or Uncle Mycroft, and instead implored that her Uncle Sherlock was on the way.

She sighed and swung her small legs back and forth on the police car bonnet. More police had turned up, and some silly people in puffy blue suits. Alex was about to laugh when she saw them, but thought that it would be 'a bit not good'.

Huffing and resting her chin on her hand in annoyance, she wondered where on Earth Uncle Sherlock was. She always was an impatient child. However, she didn't have to wait long as another police car pulled up beside her, but this one holding an extremely unamused Uncle Sherlock.

He climbed out and walked over to her with the 'you're in a lot of trouble' face that Alex so hated. He stopped in front of her and raised his eyebrow.

"I've just been talking to a certain Mrs McFall," he began slowly. "Funny, she seems to think that you are visiting your friend Josh… I can't recall you ever talking about a boy called Josh. Does he live here?" Sherlock asked lightly, pointing to the crumbling boarding house swarmed by police.

Alex shook her head, looking at her shoes.

Sherlock sighed, "You're very lucky it isn't your mother coming to get you, Alex. She seemed very angry over the phone when I told her."

Alex's face flushed with emotion and she tried to rein in her tears, "I'm in trouble when I get home, aren't I?"

Sherlock nodded but before he got a chance to carry on his scolding, someone in blue tapped him on the shoulder and motioned to the house. Sherlock looked longingly at the building, then back to Alex.

"Right, you, in Lestrade's car. I don't want you moving an inch. I'll be two minutes inside, then I'm going to take you home and you can tell me all about Josh and about what you've been doing today, sound good?" Sherlock said with a fake smile.

Alex didn't reply, she just slipped dejectedly off the car bonnet and shuffled over to where she'd been allocated, sniffling. Sherlock felt a pang of guilt then, but brushed it off. He motioned to Alex for her to stay put and jogged over to the house.

Alex watched him go, her stomach twisting horribly. She hated being in trouble with Sherlock. He was always the laidback uncle, and when he was angry, it made her feel awful. Mycroft didn't have the same effect, he just shouted when he was cross with her.

True to his word, Sherlock was out having solved the murder in under three minutes. The car ride home was silent as Lestrade dropped them off at Alex's house. Only then did the girl speak.

"Where's Mum?" she asked, seeing the car missing. "She still not back?"

Sherlock coughed uncomfortably, "She's… indisposed."

"What does that mean?"

"Busy."

"Again?"

"Your mother is a busy woman," Sherlock said shortly. "Now go and get dressed for bed and meet me in the living room."

Alex bowed her head under the strict tones and scurried through the door and up the stairs to her bedroom. She arrived back reluctantly, sporting a pair of Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles pyjamas and clutching the turtle named Leonardo in her hand. The sight almost made Sherlock laugh, but then he remembered that he was supposed to be angry with her.

"Sit down," he pointed to the sofa.

She obliged.

"Now, whose idea was it to go to Clover's Footbridge?" Sherlock began.

"Raz's."

Sherlock pursed his lips at the name, "And did you think for just a second that you would get into trouble for going there? It's nearly three miles away."

Alex mumbled something incoherent.

"Speak up," Sherlock ordered sternly.

"I just wanted to fit in," she repeated quietly, fiddling with the hem of her shirt.

Sherlock pulled her hand away, "You'll fray it."

It wasn't said sternly. He tried to catch her eye, but she kept looking away. Running a hand through his hair in exasperation, he tried a different approach.

"Anything could have happened to you today," he said imploringly. "What if you had gone into that house and seen who had done that to the man you found. Do you think the person who killed him would just let you walk away?"

"No, he would have killed me too to make sure that I wouldn't rat him out."

"Probably. Or he would have kidnapped you and done even more horrible things to you. You should know about this Alex, given what I do. We've talked about this so many times before."

Alex pulled a cushion onto her lap and cuddled it tightly, "But Raz said it would be okay."

Sherlock sighed and sat next to the girl on the sofa, "Alex, look at me."

She did, and Sherlock saw the tears gathering.

"Who do you trust more, me or Raz?" he asked seriously.

"You."

"Why?"

"Because you're a grown up, and you're clever, and you don't shout, and you're my uncle, and you like me, and… and… and you're tall," she finished lamely.

Sherlock didn't fight the smile at that, "All of those are true. So next time, when Raz wants you to do something reckless and stupid, think of me. Do you understand what I mean?"

Alex nodded, saying slowly, "I think so… you mean, if they want me to do something, I should do whatever you would do."

"No," Sherlock replied hastily. "No because I'm an adult so I can do things that you can't do. What I mean is, if you are doing something and you know that I'd be angry if I found out, you shouldn't be doing it."

"Okay. So basically, you're allowed to get yourself killed but I'm not because if I died, you'd be angry. Is that right?" Alex asked.

"Well, I wouldn't be angry, I'd be upset."

"Would you be angry at the person who killed me?"

"Most definitely."

"Would Uncle Mycroft?"

"I'm sure he would be."

"And Mum."

"Mm-hm."

Alex smiled, satisfied and sank back into the sofa, tears gone.

"So you aren't mad anymore?" she double-checked.

"No, not anymore. As long as you don't go chasing murderers again, knowingly or not."

Alex nodded vehemently, "I can do that."

"Then I suppose we don't have anything else to talk about, do we?"

"Hmm, well… can we talk about why bodies smell so bad?" she asked with wide eyes.

Sherlock smirked, _that _he could do.

* * *

**HUGE thank you to: Loyal Elf, Deductions-of-Sherlolly, mercenary2 . 0, FlewandFlied, shnuffeluv, PumpkinKiten, and emilybrock101 for reviewing!**

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	5. Sick

**Disclaimer: I do not own Sherlock or anything related to the show. All rights go to the BBC. I own Alex :)**

**Author's Note: Sorry about not updating this, I've been busy with Exception and editing ****_all _****of its 92 chapters. Over the past three days, I've spent 32 hours writing. I hope you enjoy this chapter :D**

**Enjoy:**

* * *

_Alex is two._

* * *

Sherlock had been extremely bored for the entire week. Not one case had cropped up in what seemed like centuries, and it was January! Wasn't everybody supposed to be depressed and resentful in January once they saw how much Christmas had cost them? And then of course there's the dark nights with nothing to look forward to and an entire year of debt, misery, and bitterness ahead. That, in Sherlock's opinion, was a good a reason as any to commit murder. So why was everything so damn _quiet?_

It was the following Monday when something actually popped up, a homicide by the Thames. For all Sherlock cared, it could have been in Edinburgh and he still would have gone.

He was just pulling his coat on when his phone rang. He knew immediately who it would be, and he closed his eyes, counting to ten. He loved his niece. But just… not when there was a murder. Maybe it wouldn't be about that, he reasoned.

"Yes, sister?" he answered.

_"Sherlock! I need to drop Alex off, I-I need to be somewhere."_

Sherlock held back a growl, "With all due respect, she's your child. You can't keep pawning her off on everyone else."

_"I know that!" _May shouted, offended. _"She's sick, Sherlock. I can't take her with me."_

"Then don't go wherever you're going."

_"I'm going _for _her. Oh, you don't understand. This is why I didn't ring Mycroft, but I didn't expect this from you. You know what, I'll just drop her off at Mrs McFall's, even though she specifically asked for you–"_

"Fine," Sherlock relented. "But I'm on my way to a crime scene. She'll have to come with me."

"_That's fine, as long as she stays in the car!" _May exclaimed in relief. _"I'm on my way now."_

Sherlock closed the connection before she had a chance to thank him. It was times like this when he really disliked his sister. She was the one to get pregnant, it was her choice to keep the baby, so it was her responsibility to look after her.

He had to admit though, he was confused by his sister's sudden disappearances from Alex's life. Alex spent most of her time with either him or Mycroft, and though May always came to pick her up at the end of the day, she offered no explanation as to where she was going. It wasn't out of neglect for Alex – the woman loved her daughter with all of her heart – so what was so important? Sherlock had discussed it with Mycroft but they had decided after talking with May that it was her business and that if she was ever in trouble, she would tell them.

That didn't mean he had to be happy about it.

A sharp knock on the door snapped him out of his thoughts. He opened it to see his sister looking hugely stressed, holding a two year-old Alex in her arms. Instead of reaching for him as she would usually do, Alex just kept her head pressed against her mother's chest.

"Come on, sweetie," May coaxed, putting a bag of supplies at Sherlock's feet. "We're at Uncle Sherlock's."

Alex slowly turned her head to see him.

"That was an enthusiastic," Sherlock remarked. "Not feeling well, I hear?"

Alex shook her head, then let out a little whine.

"Can you get her?" May asked, and held her out, making sure her blanket was wrapped tightly around her.

As soon as Sherlock took her, Alex began to cry into his shoulder. He looked at his sister warily and rubbed Alex's back.

"I've put some Calpol in her bag, I think her head hurts. I'll take her to the doctors as soon as I get back. I'll ask Mycroft for that private one."

"Yes, God forbid the niece of the great Mycroft Holmes use the NHS," Sherlock muttered.

May gave him a look and glanced at her watch. Her eyes widened comically and she rushed forward to kiss her daughter and brother on the cheek.

"Thanks so much for this, I won't be long, I promise."

"How many times has your mother said that, huh?" Sherlock said to Alex as May drove away, clipping the curb in her haste.

"Lots," Alex mumbled. "I feel bad."

"I know, but we're going out," Sherlock put on a cheery voice. "That'll be good, won't it?"

Alex groaned, "Wanna go to bed."

Sherlock chewed his bottom lip, "Well… you can sleep in Lestrade's car."

"Can I take teddies?"

"As many as you want."

"Duvet?"

Sherlock thought of the small technicality that it would be an extremely strange sight to see a man carrying a child swaddled in a duvet across London, but agreed to keep her happy. He would just have to avoid making her cry.

"Of course. Just lie down on the sofa while I call a cab and get your stuff, okay?"

Alex nodded and closed her eyes as Sherlock laid her down in the living room.

* * *

It was raining when they eventually arrived at the crime scene. Sherlock carried Alex, who couldn't be seen inside her bundle of blankets and duvet, over to Lestrade's car and put her on the back seat. She positioned the pillow underneath her head, squashed her favourite teddy – Warwick – to her body. Sherlock made sure the duvet was pulled up to her chin.

"You got my spare phone?" Sherlock asked.

Alex held it up tiredly, "Can I sleep now?"

"In a minute. What do you do if someone other than Lestrade or I try to open the car door?"

"Tap 1 and ring you and don't let them in," Alex replied dully.

"Good. I'm just going to be over there with Lestrade. I won't be long. Try and get some sleep."

Alex nodded and nuzzled her way down into the pillow, closing her eyes and trying not to be sick.

Sherlock, content that she _wasn't _going to spontaneously projectile vomit, closed the door quietly and made his way over to Lestrade and the body.

"What took you so long?" Lestrade asked, looking up from his notes.

"Had to look after Alex, she's ill."

"Oh, have you given Mycroft the joy of a sick toddler?" Lestrade snorted. "Brotherly love for you."

"No she isn't with Mycroft," Sherlock replied distractedly as he knelt down to the body.

It had obviously been in the water for some time, and preliminary verdict had been drowning – possibly a suicide – until someone had found several pin pricks around the back of the neck, and further analysis supplied them with the fact that he had probably been poisoned.

"Your sister has her?" Lestrade guessed.

"No."

"That old lady babysitter?"

"Nope."

Lestrade frowned, "Then where is she?"

"In your car," Sherlock answered simply.

"What?" Lestrade gaped. "You brought her _here?" _

"There was no other option. She's fine, she's sleeping," Sherlock brushed off.

"Sherlock, you can't just leave a sick child in the back of a car," Lestrade said seriously.

"I can see her from here and she has my spare phone. She knows what to do. It's probably warmer in your car than my flat anyway."

"You still shouldn't leave her."

"Fine," Sherlock said exasperatedly, looking up from the body to the detective. "You go babysit for a while. It's hardly like you're any use here now anyway, not if you've called me in."

Lestrade scoffed, "Only you, Sherlock Holmes, could think that you can insult me and then trick me into taking care of _your _niece."

"You keep going on about me bringing Alex here, but what if she insisted? What if she just couldn't wait to see her Uncle Lestrade?" Sherlock manipulated.

Lestrade raised an eyebrow at him, "I know what you're doing. But I _am_ going to check on her, more for the sake of my leather interior than your minding duties."

"She'll be thrilled," Sherlock deadpanned.

Lestrade shot him a dark look before jogging over to his car. He opened the door closest to Alex's head. She blinked up at him as he sat on the floor of the car, so that he was only a little taller than Alex.

"How're you feeling?" he asked, holding the back of his hand against her head.

"Burny," she moaned and rubbed her flushed cheek.

"Hmm," she was quite hot. "I wish I was burny. I'm freezing out here."

She didn't even smile at that, a sign that she was genuinely ill. She was usually an extremely smiley child.

"Lestward," she whined and buried her head further into her pillow.

She hadn't called him 'Lestward' for about a year now, when she managed to master the pronunciation of the letter 'r'.

"Tired?"

Alex nodded, "My head hurts."

"Well, I think Uncle Sherlock will be finished in a minute and you can go home and get to bed. Can I get you anything?" Lestrade asked gently.

"Shut the door, please," she asked, half moaning.

"Are you cold?" Lestrade frowned, she was boiling.

"Fingers are."

Lestrade took her hand from beneath her duvet and almost gasped at how icy they were. He moved further in the car, sitting on the edge of the seats Alex was lying across. As he moved, Alex groaned and put a hand over her eyes.

"Too bright."

The detective closed the door, the tinted windows blocking out most of the light.

"Makes head hurt," Alex muttered, looking up at Lestrade miserably. "Uncle Sherlock nearly done now?"

Lestrade nodded, then noticed the angle at which she was laid.

"You can't be comfortable like that. Why don't you roll over and face the other way?" he suggested.

"Hurts too much."

"What does?"

"Neck."

Lestrade's eyes narrowed as he registered her symptoms. Headache, neck pain, sensitivity to light, fever, cold hands…

"I'm just going to get your Uncle Sherlock and I'll be back, okay?" Lestrade told her with what he hoped was a reassuring smile.

She didn't answer him as she had slipped into sleep.

Lestrade chewed the inside of his mouth nervously as he ran back over to Sherlock who was still examining the body.

"Sherlock, I think you need to take Alex to a doctor."

Sherlock rolled his eyes, "Don't worry, if she throws up on your car, I'm sure Mycroft can pay for the damages."

"I don't care about the car, I think Alex's really ill," he said seriously.

Sherlock frowned, "What are you talking about?"

"She said her head hurts, she's running a temperature, her fingers are cold, her neck hurts, and she can't look at light."

As he listed her symptoms, Sherlock's face drained of any colour it had.

"You think…" he trailed off. It couldn't be.

"I think we need to get her to a hospital."

* * *

Two hours later, two very worried Holmeses and Lestrade were sat outside the private room at the hospital Alex had been taken to. They were all thinking the same thing, but none would say what that was. It wouldn't happen to Alex. Meningitis was something _other _children got. You _heard _about things like that. It could never happen to your own child.

Alex had been sleeping the whole journey to the hospital, but wouldn't be parted with her teddy. She kept it in a surprisingly tight grip, so the doctor let her keep it. They also allowed the rest of her teddies and duvet to stay with her in the room for comfort in case she woke up and was unsure as to where she was.

Mycroft had got to the hospital just after Alex had been taken into the room. Unable to enter until they were finished running tests, the three couldn't do anything other than just wait. Maybelline had been notified of the situation as soon as they had a chance and she was on her way. She sounded distraught, as any mother would be.

That was two hours ago, and she still hadn't arrived.

"Where is she?" Sherlock muttered, checking his watch.

"She should have been here an hour and a half ago," Mycroft agreed.

Right on cue – indeed an hour and a half late – May turned up, wide-eyed and panting.

"I'm so sorry," she gushed. "The traffic was _awful. _Where is she? Is she okay?"

"We don't know," Mycroft told her. "They took her in there two hours ago and they haven't told us anything since."

May put a hand to her mouth and closed her eyes, "This can't be happening."

Lestrade left the family to it, giving a sympathetic smile to Alex's mother and asking Sherlock to text him when they know anything.

May nodded to him and sat down next to Sherlock. She let out a little sob and leant into his shoulder. He put his arm around her, keeping his eyes glued on the door.

"Why didn't I take her this morning?" she mumbled against the fabric of Sherlock's shirt. She looked up with shimmering eyes. "...She can't–"

"She won't," Sherlock interrupted, knowing what she was going to say. "She's like us."

"We aren't invincible, Sherlock," Mycroft said quietly.

It was another three hours before a doctor resurfaced from the room. The three Holmeses immediately stood, May moving to the front.

"Is she okay?" she asked, sounding grave as if she already knew the answer.

The doctor smiled at her, "She's just fine."

May let out a relieved breath, allowing a quick smile to light up her usually beautiful face, now worn with stress.

"What's wrong with her then?" Sherlock asked, sounding just as relieved as his sister. "If not meningitis, then what?

"She seems to have had an allergic reaction to some sort of medication. What have you given her today?" the doctor asked.

"Just Calpol, but she's had that since she was a baby," May said.

"Sometimes allergies can suddenly manifest, especially in children her age. It's just her body reacting to different substances and trying to protect her. We've given her some antibiotics and fluids. She seems completely fine now. Though, if you notice that she's not herself in any way, please tell one of us," the doctor told them.

"So we can see her now?" May asked eagerly.

The doctor smiled, "Of course. I need to go now, but just press the assistance button if you need me."

As he left, May opened the door into the room, expecting to see her daughter small, vulnerable, pale, and weak.

They got a shock.

Alex, if anything, looked hyper.

"Where've _yous _been?!" she exclaimed, sat up and playing with her teddies.

May laughed tearfully and wrapped her arms around her daughter, burying her face in Alex's hair. Alex looked over her shoulder to where Sherlock and Mycroft were watching her, making a face as if to say 'what's wrong with _her? _Are you going to get her off me?'.

May pulled back and noticed the cannula in the back of Alex's hand.

"Does it hurt?" she asked, running her hand through Alex's hair.

Alex shrugged, unbothered, "No."

"That's because you're tough, right Alex?" Sherlock said, walking over and sitting in the chair next to her.

"Right," Alex affirmed. "Like a cookie. I'm a tough cookie. I'm in… inva… inny…"

"Invincible?" Mycroft supplied.

"Yup," Alex replied, popping the 'p'. "I'm invincible!"

"And you feel okay?" May asked, smiling at Alex's optimism. "No pain or sickness?"

"No, I'm fine… but I have a secret," Alex whispered, looking at Sherlock.

He raised an eyebrow at her, "And what would that be?"

"Y'know the doctor?"

He nodded.

"I did one of your deductions."

"And?"

"He's sleeping with the nurse."

Sherlock couldn't help the bark of laughter at that, turning to where Mycroft was stood repressing a smile with May giggling onto his shoulder.

"Oh yeah, she's fine."

* * *

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	6. Football

**Disclaimer: I do not own Sherlock or anything related to the show. All rights go to the BBC. I own Alex :)**

**Author's Note: Sorry for not updating this for a while, I have been concentrating on Exception these last few weeks and I have had _so _many exams, which are now all over! Yey! This chapter is based on a request to have a chapter based on the 'Shropshire cheese' comment in chapter 92 of Exception. If you have any requests, drop me a review :)**

* * *

_Alex is four years old._

* * *

"I'm bored," Alex whined, resting her chin on her folded arms petulantly.

Mycroft looked up from his work to her. That sentence uttered from that child's mouth was _never _a good thing.

"Go to school, then."

"It's Saturday, Uncle Mycroft," Alex said in a 'duh' tone of voice. "School's closed."

"Don't they do weekend classes?"

"Yeah, for boring old crochet."

"Who in your neighbourhood wants to learn crocheting?"

"I don't know, middle-aged women who have bitten off more than they can chew and had one too many kids, and whose husbands have left them for younger models, and have fallen into the poverty trap, so they look for any form of free escapism from real life. They crochet to forget," Alex said monotonously.

"Alex, I think you're confusing crocheting with alcoholism," Mycroft said dryly.

"Am not! Sherlock told me!"

"Yes, you can tell."

Alex huffed, "You're using the voice again."

"What voice?"

"That one. The condescending one. You're condescending, Mycroft, _condescending._"

"I should never have taught you that word," Mycroft muttered.

"You didn't. Sherlock did. He said it and I asked what it meant."

"Three guesses who he used as an example."

"You," Alex replied instantly.

Mycroft sighed, "Don't you have something to do? Anything?"

"Nooooo," Alex dragged out. "That's what I'm telling you."

"Then sit there and be quiet until I finish this report, then I'll find something for you to do."

Alex glared at him and took out her phone, flipped up the lid, and opened one of the games. She purposely turned the volume up as much as possible, so that the tinny tune filled the room. Mycroft paused in the word he was typing, hands clenching into fists over the top of the keys in frustration.

"We bought you that phone to use in emergencies, not to play games on," he said in a forced calm. "You're not only wasting the battery, but your brain cells as well."

"I'm playing Snake… because I'm sat in front of one," Alex grinned as she thought of the insult.

Mycroft minimised the document on his computer, turning his full attention to Alex.

"What's wrong with you today? You aren't usually so rude."

"Nothing's wrong," she mumbled moodily, still playing the game.

Mycroft pursed his lips and took the phone from her hands. She gave him a look of outrage, to which he extinguished with The Look. She hung her head dejectedly, realising she was in the wrong.

"Please may I have my phone back?" she asked quietly.

"There's something that comes before that," Mycroft reminded her.

She sighed, "Sorry for being rude and interrupting you when you're working."

"That's okay. Now are you going to answer my question: why are you in such a bad mood?" Mycroft asked.

Alex shrugged.

"You know that isn't an answer."

"Sorry," she murmured.

Mycroft tilted his head at her, "Has someone upset you at school?"

Alex shook her head.

"Has Sherlock upset you?"

"No, he never upsets me."

"Have you had an argument with your mother?"

"No."

"Then what?" Mycroft asked, exasperated.

"I just… didn't sleep well last night."

"And why was that?"

"No reason," Alex replied cagily.

_"Alex," _Mycroft warned.

Her shoulders slumped as she relented, "Mum was on the phone until late. Then she cried all night."

Mycroft frowned in concern, "Who was she talking to?"

"She wouldn't tell me. Don't let her tell me off, though," Alex pleaded.

"Why would she tell you off?"

"Because she told me not to tell you or Sherlock and if she finds out that I did, she'll be mad at me. I hate it when you three are mad at me."

Mycroft leant forward, resting his elbows on the desk, "Don't worry, she won't be angry. But I need you to go and find something to do now."

"Can't you play with me?" Alex asked meekly.

"No, Alex. I need to speak with your mother."

"Please don't tell her!" Alex cried, getting to her feet. "_Please!"_

"Alex," Mycroft said patiently. "I have known your mother for a lot longer than you have, and I'm telling you, she won't be angry. Now go and do something."

Alex chewed the inside of her mouth nervously, "Can I have my phone back then, please?"

Mycroft handed it back to her, "Don't play on the games, think of something productive to do."

"Like painting a picture?"

"If you'd like."

Alex nodded thoughtfully, "Okay. I'll do that."

As she started to leave, Mycroft called her back.

"Knock before coming back in, Alex. And no eavesdropping."

She looked offended at the very thought.

* * *

Two hours later, the whole 'paint a picture' idea had crashed and burned. Alex laid in the middle of her bedroom, cross-legged, with her face squashed against her rug.

"What are you doing?" Anthea asked in amusement, leaning against the doorframe.

She had only started at the job a couple of months ago, but Alex had taken to her immediately, which was rare.

"Waiting to die," Alex replied glumly.

"That sounds fun."

"Well, it's not. And I don't appreciate your sarcasm."

"You really need to stop parroting your uncles. It'll get you into trouble one of these days," Anthea pushed off from the frame and came to sit next to her on the rug. "Cheer up."

"I'm _bored _though_,_" Alex moaned.

"Well dealing with bored children isn't really in my job description, so you need to find something to entertain yourself with," Anthea said, but not nastily. "Maybe go in the garden or something."

"I could play football," Alex suddenly thought, brightening. "I need to practice so I can beat Logan on Monday."

"There you go."

Alex beamed.

"Thank you!" she shouted as she sprinted out of her room and down the stairs to the garden.

Alex ran to the shed, taking down her football from the shelf, and carrying it to the back garden. She placed it down on the patio area and was about to kick it onto the grass when the gardener shouted over to her.

"I wouldn't, Miss Holmes!" he called.

Alex frowned, "Why not?"

"The sprinklers have just gone off, the grass is soaking. You'll get up to the naffs in mud. Just warning you," the man tapped his cap and disappeared back into his gardening shed.

Alex glanced down at her new white shoes and socks, only a day old. Then to her bright yellow leggings. She knew she would get into so much trouble if she get muddy again – the school hill incident had been a one-time thing, Sherlock had told her – so she picked up her ball and went back into the house to find Anthea.

She wandered through the halls of Mycroft's huge home, little shoes clopping gently on the polished wood flooring. Her face pulled into one of confusion as Anthea was nowhere to be seen. Finally, she managed to find and collar one of Mycroft's other staff.

"Excuse me," she said, remembering her manners. "Have you seen Anthea anywhere?"

The woman eyed the football in Alex's hands warily, "You aren't thinking of playing with that in here, are you? I've just cleaned everywhere."

Alex pouted, "Of course not. Why would I do that? Football is played outside, not inside. Have you seen Anthea?"

"I saw her leave earlier to go to Mr Holmes's work office. I expect she'll be back soon."

Alex hung her head sadly, "Thanks anyway."

She shuffled down the end of the corridor, ball tucked under her arm, and found herself in the study. It was used mainly for show, the study, with Mycroft usually working in his office instead. The cleaners were often the only people to be in there. Today, it was empty.

Alex set her ball down by the door and went to the chair behind the desk. She pulled herself up onto it, legs dangling from the floor as she spun around lazily. She did this again and again before she got too dizzy and went to the window to look for Anthea.

Half an hour passed, and there was still no sign of the woman. Alex had curled up on the window sill, arms wrapped around her shins and chin perched on her knees. She wished she was at Sherlock's flat. There was always something to do there, always something for Sherlock to teach or play with her with. Mycroft was always so busy, so she had to make her own entertainment. But her options were running thin on the ground.

That was when the idea struck. Alex glanced sideways at the football. It was just sat there, waiting to be played with. She couldn't go outside...

The words of the cleaner came back to her,

_You aren't thinking of playing with that in here, are you?_

Well, why not?

Alex grinned and hopped down from the window sill. This was going to be fun.

* * *

When Mycroft heard the crash, he was halfway through his sentence, talking to his sister on the phone. He frowned, taking the telephone away from his ear and listening. Everything was quiet afterwards.

_"Mycroft… are you still there?"_

He shook his head, thinking that one of his staff had probably just smashed something, and turned back to his conversation.

"Yes, yes. What was I saying?"

* * *

Alex hadn't moved for three minutes. Not an inch. She remained frozen in the same position of shock, right foot slightly raised.

Slowly, she came out of her stupor, and recognised the carnage around her. Shattered glass fragments littered the floor, the bookcase laid on its side, with the books it once held strewn over the rug. The perpetrator had landed out on the driveway, leaving a ball-shaped hole in the window behind.

"Oh no," Alex whispered.

Mycroft was going to _kill _her…

In a sudden burst of genius, Alex scrambled to take out her cheap Emergency Phone. It only had a few contacts – her mother, Sherlock, Mycroft, and some of their close friends.

She tried Sherlock first, but it went straight to voicemail. He had probably broken another one chasing someone or other, so that wasn't a surprise. Anthea was next on the list, all while Alex stood rooted to the spot in the middle of the bombsite, but she only answered long enough to say that she was busy before ending the call.

Alex's list of associates was running out fast.

Knowing that she couldn't ring Lestrade – he could be with a suspect, or something like that, 'catching bad guys', as he liked to tell her – there was only one contact left.

Molly.

It was her day off, and she answered on the second ring.

_"Alex, everything okay?"_ Molly asked.

It was a reasonable enough response, Alex had never rang her before.

"No," Alex whispered, too scared to speak at a normal volume. "Come to Mycroft's."

_"What's happened? Are you alright?"_

"N-no. Just come quick."

_"Where's your uncle?"_

"In his office. He'll come looking for me soon, though. You need to hurry. He's going to find me!" Alex hissed.

Molly's tone turned suspicious, _"Are you playing hide-and-seek, Alex?"_

"No, I've smashed the window in the study and broken the bookshelf!"

_"Oh, thank God. I thought you were in trouble," _Molly laughed in relief.

"I _am _in trouble!" Alex insisted.

_"Just explain what's happened, I'm sure he won't be too angry."_

"But he will," Alex was close to tears now. "And Mum's angry at me for telling Uncle Mycroft about her crying, and now Uncle Mycroft's angry at me for messing up the study, and Uncle Sherlock won't answer, and Anthea's busy. I don't know what to do! No one's going to be my friend anymore and it's my fault but I didn't mean to. It was an accident! But that man who killed that girl at my school said it was an accident, I heard him, but he still got put in prison. I don't want to go to prison, Molly!"

_"Okay, calm down," _Molly said. _"What do you want me to do?"_

"Come and help me tidy up before Mycroft finds out."

_"He's going to realise why I'm there. I'm not lying to him."_

Alex sniffed, "I thought you were my friend."

_"I am!"_

"Friends help each other."

_"I'm not going to lie to the face of Mycroft Holmes."_

"You won't have to! I promise. If he sees you, I'll tell him the truth."

Molly sighed and paused, "_I'll be ten minutes."_

"Come through the secret entrance I showed you at the barbeque."

_"Alex, that's through all those bushes," _Molly groaned.

"Please!"

_"Really?"_

"Really. I'll be your bestest friend ever."

_"… Fine."_

* * *

Molly, after being attacked by leaves, twigs, and branches – all made slimy and muddy by the sprinklers – spotted the ball in the middle of the gravel driveway, and followed the flightpath to the broken window. Behind the broken window, was a very nervous looking four year-old. Alex waved frantically for her to come up.

Molly was amazed that she didn't get stopped in the corridors. She had been to Mycroft's house before, so security wouldn't be a problem as they knew who she was, but she at least expected some questions.

When she got to the study, after getting lost three times, Alex was on the verge of a breakdown.

"Where have you been?" Alex exclaimed.

Molly didn't answer; she was too busy surveying the damage.

"You caused _all _of this… with a football?" Molly asked incredulously. "It looks like there's been a nuclear strike."

"Never mind that, help me tidy!"

But they only got through one or two books before they heard the all-too-familiar tones of Mycroft Holmes.

"Alex! Where are you?"

"He's in the dining room," Alex whispered, eyes wider than should be humanly possible. "He's coming this way."

Molly folded her arms, "Well that's that over with. You're just going to have to tell him now."

"No," Alex shook her head vehemently. "No way."

Molly shook her head at her with a disbelieving laugh, "Alex, not even you can worm your way out of this one."

"I can worm my way out of anything. Sherlock said so."

"That's not exactly a compliment. Look, just tell him–"

"Shh," Alex hushed frantically, holding up a hand and listening intently. "He's gone past… he's checking the other study first. Quick, come on."

"Where?"

The only answer Molly got was a sharp tug on her hand and suddenly she was out into the corridor, stumbling behind the child.

"Stop walking so loudly," Alex whispered. "Tiptoe."

"Alex, this is ridiculous," Molly said, but allowed herself to be pulled down the corridor.

"Two more corridors and we're at the front door," Alex informed her quietly as she jogged.

"And what's your plan after that?"

Alex shrugged, "I'll run away to the circus."

"Alex–"

Before she could say one more word, Alex had slammed a hand to her mouth and pushed her roughly into the wall, and then through a door. The barrage of light colours and fluffy rug was all the indication Molly needed to know that she was in Alex's bedroom.

"What are you doing?" Molly asked, straightening her cardigan.

Alex put a finger to her lips and peeked through the crack in the door. Her face paled even more, and she quickly retreated from the door, once again taking Molly's hand, this time manoeuvring her into her wardrobe.

"What the - ?"

"SHH!" Alex hissed viciously, closing the wardrobe doors, trapping them inside in the dark, only a thin streak of light entering through the tiny gap.

"This is ridiculous," Molly whispered. "I'm going to tell your uncle myself."

"No you won't. You're already an accomplice. By running and hiding with me, it makes you look guilty. That's what–"

"Sherlock said," Molly finished for her with a sigh, knowing she was right. And there was no way she was going to piss of Mycroft Holmes. "You absolute terror."

"Be quiet," Alex reminded her. "Listen."

Molly did, straining her ears. It was faint, but she could hear footsteps and mumbled conversation.

"Your ears are younger than mine, what are they saying?" she whispered to Alex.

"Mycroft's asked two of the staff to find me. They're coming now!"

Sure enough, Alex's bedroom door opened, the handle creaking slightly. Alex looked through the gap in the wardrobe doors and saw Mrs Tetley, the cleaner who had been there since Alex could remember.

Alex's breathing increased, and Molly covered her mouth.

"You're breathing too loudly," Molly whispered.

She felt Alex's face distort in disgust under her hand.

"What?" Molly barely whispered.

Alex pulled her hand away momentarily, "You smell of Shropshire Blue cheese."

"Alex?" Mrs Tetley called before Molly had chance to defend herself. "Are you in here?"

The woman stood still for a moment, listening, then shook her head and made for the door.

That was when Alex's phone rang.

"Shut it up," Molly hissed.

"I'm trying!" Alex dug desperately into her pockets as it kept ringing.

Molly watched Mrs Tetley through the gap as she turned back to the room with a frown on her face.

"Hurry up, Alex," Molly urged

The pathologist couldn't even begin to think about how bad it would look for a cleaner to find a woman holding Alex inside a wardrobe with a trashed room at the other end of the house. The words 'sign of a struggle' and 'held against will' sprang to mind.

Finally, Alex's hand wrapped around the device and turned it off, looking back to Mrs Tetley hopefully.

The woman listened for a few more seconds – or hours to the girls in the wardrobe – before shrugging and leaving the room. Alex and Molly let out a simultaneous sigh of relief.

"Who was that ringing you?" Molly asked.

Alex turned the phone back on, "It was Sherlock! Yes!"

She selected the option to call back, after being shown by Molly, and held the phone to her ear.

"Hello?" she spoke as Sherlock picked up.

_"Alex, why are you ringing me?"_

"Why didn't you answer earlier?" Alex asked, knowing that if he had just picked up, none of this would have happened.

_"I was busy. What's wrong?"_

"I need you to come pick us up."

_"Us?"_

"Molly and me."

_"Why's Molly there?"_

Alex took a deep breath and launched into her story, telling it at her usual thousand miles per hour pace.

"And Molly won't take me to yours because people could think she's kidnapping me but you could because you're you, so will you?"

Sherlock was silent for a moment.

"Preferably before Mycroft finds and kills me."

_"Don't you have another escape route? I'm rather busy at the moment. You know, trying to catch murderers and whatnot," _the sarcasm in his voice was evident, and made Alex's eyes narrow.

"I suppose there's another way."

_"Good, I'll see you tomorrow–"_

"You won't see me tomorrow. Or the next day. Or the one after that."

_"What are you going on about?"_

"My backup plan," Alex said casually. "I'm running away to the circus. Molly and me are going to be a double act and go to America. Bye, Sherlock."

_"Wait," _he said before she hung up. He had a hint of laughter in his voice and Alex knew she had amused him enough to abandon what he was doing. _"I'm coming."_

* * *

"I told you, I sent Molly in to get her," Sherlock rolled his eyes at the phone from the sofa.

Alex glanced over at him from where she was doing a jigsaw on the coffee table. Sherlock had a bunch of jigsaws and games at his flat that Alex had accumulated over the years. She had been working on a particularly tricky one since they had dropped off Molly and returned to the flat.

Sherlock scoffed at whatever Mycroft's response was, "Because, brother dear, in case you hadn't noticed, I don't exactly enjoy spending time in the same vicinity as you. Being in the same city is irritating enough."

Alex giggled quietly.

Sherlock was quiet as Mycroft spoke, then looked over to Alex.

"Football in the house?"

Alex bit her lip, shrugging with an apologetic expression. Sherlock smirked at her.

"I have no idea. Goodbye, Mycroft."

He ended the call and threw the phone onto the armchair.

"So I'm staying here the night?" Alex asked, fitting another piece to her puzzle.

"Hmm, it seems so."

Sherlock stood up and went to his computer.

"Can we do some dissections?" Alex asked.

"No, I don't think your mother would appreciate that on top of what you've already done," he replied as he scrolled through his laptop. "But, I don't see the harm in you helping me with a case if you…"

"Don't tell Uncle Mycroft and Mum?" Alex guessed with a grin.

"Exactly."

Alex abandoned her now suddenly very boring jigsaw and walked over to Sherlock at his desk, climbing on his knee and looking at the autopsy report he had on the screen. She struggled with most of the words, but Sherlock explained what they were with a 'please don't repeat these around anyone else', after she had assured Mycroft she didn't have third degree burns when she scalded herself, because otherwise you'd be able to see bones and muscle and 'icky bloody stuff'.

"So I'm not in trouble with you?" she asked after Sherlock had worked out who the killer was and had explained his deductions to Alex.

"I told you, you can worm your way out of anything."

"As long as you're my getaway driver. What happens when you're not there, though?" Alex's face turned troubled.

"Don't worry," Sherlock told her. "I'll always be your getaway driver."

* * *

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	7. A Study in Cake Mix

**Disclaimer: I do not own Sherlock or anything related to the show. All rights go to the BBC. I own Alex :)**

**Author's Note: Hey! So here's the next installment (I'm on a roll with updates this weekend!). This is based on a request to write about the photo Alex got for Christmas in A Scandal in Belgravia with her sitting on Sherlock's shoulders while Sherlock was covered in cake mix. Very fun to write! Bear in mind here that Alex is nine months old, so May is just turned eighteen and Sherlock is around 20/21. **

**Enjoy!**

* * *

_Alex is nine months old._

* * *

To begin with, Alex had been a very slow-developing baby, mostly keeping to sleeping and eating, not really acknowledging people around her. It got to the point where her mother was beginning to worry and took her to a doctor, who said everything was completely normal. Alex was just a little slower than other babies.

May didn't even know what happened next. Sherlock said Alex had taken the doctor's words as a personal offence because the next morning when May went to pick her up from her cot, she was sat up smiling at her. At three and a half months.

From there, she just kept growing and getting stronger, and eventually, baby babble turned into little snippets of coherent sentences. Once she had showcased sarcasm, which Sherlock had found hilarious. No doubt he was the one teaching her these things, like he had taught her one of her favourite words – aneurism. It sounded more like 'anya-ism' from her mouth, though, and had first said it when her mother was complaining of a headache at Mycroft's house. Sherlock had spat tea all over the leather three-piece. He couldn't believe she had chosen to use it exactly in the right context.

That morning, she was especially chatty in her babble as she played with her jigsaw on the living room carpet. May laid on the couch watching her, Saturday morning cartoons on in the background. She occasionally helped Alex when she became stuck on certain tricky puzzles. She had moved onto fifty-piece jigsaws now, which was all good for her growing intelligence but not when May found pieces of wooden Dalmatian face stuck to her feet whenever she walked anywhere in the house.

Alex suddenly looked up at her, stuttering out a gibberish sentence with the words 'what' 'do' 'now' in them.

"What are we doing today?" May asked, amused.

Alex nodded, crawling over to her. May picked her up and set her on her lap.

"We're going over to Uncle Sherlock's, remember? It's his birthday so we're going to surprise him."

"Uncw Mycwot?"

May shook her head sadly, "I don't think so. You know what Uncle Mycroft and Uncle Sherlock are like when they're together."

"Naugh'y," Alex nodded solemnly.

May laughed and stood up, perching Alex on her hip, "Are you going to choose what you want to wear? A dress?"

Alex shook her head firmly, "No! No! No! No!"

May walked out of the living room and ascended the stairs, "So long as it's not those horrible dungarees again."

* * *

Many tears, several temper tantrums, and some broken curtains later, Alex and her mother arrived at Sherlock's flat, the former clad in her favourite denim dungarees, the latter with an unamused expression clear on her face. They knocked on his door, but there was no answer.

"I knew we should have rang him first," May sighed, shifting Alex onto her other arm to reach into her bag.

She took out her key to her brother's flat and opened the door. It was surprisingly tidy inside and after a quick scout around, May deemed it safe to put Alex on the floor and let her crawl to her box down the side of the sofa. She used the arm of the sofa to pull herself up and look into the kaleidoscope Sherlock had bought her – a significantly bigger one than Mycroft got her for Christmas.

She cooed and giggled into it as May unloaded the ingredients they had stopped and bought on the way over. She was just going to buy a cake when Alex, sat in the trolley, had thrown her arms out and pointed at a ready-mix cake pack with Sleeping Beauty on it.

"I don't think Uncle Sherlock will appreciate that, Alex."

Alex had pouted, then pointed to a Thomas the Tank Engine mix.

"Or that."

The toddler had hung her head, folding her arms across her chest.

"We could make our own cake for him at his flat," May suggested, coming round to the idea herself. "He has a pretty decent kitchen he never uses…"

Alex had nodded, clapping her hands together excitedly and shouting, "Make cake!"

Now, May was beginning to regret caving into her daughter. Mycroft was the chef out of the three of them. She and Sherlock were lucky if a meal of spaghetti hoops on toast was a success.

_It'll have sentimental value even if it is not brimming with culinary finesse, _she thought positively and continued unloading the eggs and flour onto the work top, periodically glancing back into the living room where Alex was unloading yet more toys and puzzles.

* * *

Sherlock knew he had guests from the second he climbed out of the taxi. It was either Mycroft or, May and Alex. Both had the annoying habit of fixing his curtains whenever they visited. Though, the latter two were much more preferable to the former.

So when he opened his door to see Alex sat in the middle of his floor, he felt a huge surge of relief.

"Uncw Sher! Uncw Sher!" she immediately abandoned her toy to crawl over to him.

She usually used his full name but tended to shorten it when she was excited.

He picked her up, "What are you doing here alone then? Have you learnt to drive in the three days I haven't seen you?"

Alex giggled, not fully understanding what he was talking about. She pointed to the kitchen.

"Mum in-in-in there."

"Ah, well I'd better go and see what she's destroying in my kitchen," he set her down in the middle of the ring of toys she had made and walked into the kitchen.

May jumped when he said hello, having been so absorbed in trying to decipher the controls on the oven in front of her.

"Oh, God, you frightened me," she laughed, walking over and kissing him on the cheek. "Happy birthday."

Sherlock narrowed his eyes at the carnage on his counter tops, "Please tell me you aren't baking me a cake."

"No, _we're _baking a cake, the three of us. It was Alex's idea. She mentioned something about beating Mycroft at his cake-baking game."

Alex gave an indistinct shout.

Sherlock sighed, "Not even a year old and she's manipulating and pitting us against one another. I feel immensely proud."

"I rang Mycroft and told him what we were doing. He said he wouldn't miss it for World War Three. He should be over by the time we're finished."

"Excellent, the great connoisseur."

May nudged him in the ribs, more amused than annoyed.

"Right, I'm going to see if I can get your oven to work. I think Alex wanted to show you something in the living room."

Right on cue, Alex gave another shout for him.

"I'd better go while she still has working vocal chords."

Sherlock ducked out of the kitchen to sit in his armchair, Alex playing by his feet. As soon as he sat down, she grinned and dived into her box, retrieving one of her least favourite toys – an electronic mouse. It was simple, cheap, and pretty disgusting, but Alex had an aversion to throwing any of her toys out at the moment.

"What are you showing me this for?" Sherlock asked when she waved it in front of his face.

She tipped it upside down and prised the plastic case off, revealing the inner workings of the toy. She looked at him expectantly.

"Hmm, they're batteries, Alex."

She tilted her head at the strange things and picked one out of its holder. She held it between her thumb and forefinger, looking at it curiously. Then, completely to the surprise and horror of Sherlock, she put it in her mouth. She froze, then spat it out, face crinkled with disgust and pain as she stuck out her tongue. Sherlock just looked at her in shock for a few moments, snapping out of it when tears filled her eyes. Sherlock cast a wary look into the kitchen.

He picked her up from the floor and put her on his knee.

"Don't cry, please don't cry," he whispered. "Because then your mother will shout at me, understand?"

Alex's bottom lip wobbled.

"No, no, no, please, Alex, please don't cry," he begged. "If you have to, cry silently."

She stared at him, took a few breaths, then calmed down. The tears disappeared, followed by an angry knitting of the eyebrows. She climbed down from her uncle's knee, took the mouse – one battery lighter – and threw it into the fireplace.

"You don't like Mouse anymore?" Sherlock asked.

Alex shook her head and went back to her box. Sherlock heaved a sigh of relief, proud of himself for diverting that disaster.

"So what's your favourite toy now?"

Alex rifled through the box, getting right to the bottom and retrieving something clutched tightly in her hand. She climbed back up onto his lap – with her uncle's help – and used her free hand to close his eyes. Her lack of coordination meaning she actually poked him in the eyes but he didn't mind. She picked up his hand and held it out.

"Weddy?" she asked, it being another of her frequently used words.

Sherlock nodded.

She dropped the toy into his hand.

"Open!"

Sherlock opened his eyes and peered down at his hand. It was a finger. A decomposing finger.

"Where did you get this from?" Sherlock sighed, raising an eyebrow at his niece.

She frowned, not understanding why he wasn't happy with her.

"Bo-box," she said, pointing to it. "My toy. No?"

"No, it's a finger."

Sherlock shook his head, berating himself for not clearing away after his experiments properly. He stood up, taking Alex and the finger with him to the kitchen, where he slipped the body part in the bin.

"What was that?" May asked suspiciously, watching him from the corner of her eye while trying to see if there was a flame at the back of the oven.

"Finger!" Alex exclaimed.

May paused, turning to Sherlock, about to speak.

"Yes, Alex found a chocolate finger underneath the sofa," Sherlock lied easily.

May narrowed her eyes at him for a moment but laughed, "Knowing you, I wouldn't be surprised if it was a real one."

"Hmm, how absurd," Sherlock smiled, and Alex laughed, poking the side of his face.

"Obsur," Alex tried to copy.

"You're not allowed to teach her anymore words," May warned, grinning when she _finally _managed to preheat the oven. "Okay, Alex are you doing stirring or weighing?"

"Stirwing!"

Sherlock sat her on the counter, next to the sink, "Wash your hands first."

"She already did before you came in," May said, weighing the flour and sugar together.

"Well, one more time doesn't hurt."

May finished cracking the eggs into the mix and looked at him. He matched her gaze innocently.

"Weddy!" Alex said, lifting up her wet hands.

He handed her a tea towel as May put the bowl in front of Alex to mix. The girl grabbed hold of the spoon excitedly and began to stir as best she could. As Sherlock held the bowl still for her, May came up behind him and whispered,

"That was a real finger, wasn't it?"

Sherlock cleared his throat uncomfortably.

To his surprise, she laughed, "I'm going to kill you."

"Thankfully, I have birthday privileges," he smirked.

May shrugged, "Just means I have to wait until tomorrow."

"Weddy!" she punctuated the word with a swing of the wooden spoon, sending a lump of cake batter flying and sticking on Sherlock's face.

Sherlock stood there with a completely unamused expression on his face while his sister laughed at him.

"Wait there, I'm getting your camera," May managed out through her giggles.

Sherlock groaned as she disappeared into his bedroom, looking at his niece.

"See what you've done? We just managed to ween her off the camera. You're the reason for her photography relapse," he said to her seriously.

Alex kept the grin on her face until her mother appeared with Polaroid camera in tow. She moaned, being sick of her mother taking pictures of her.

"Lift her up on your shoulders."

Despite being around the camera, Alex couldn't help the squeal of delight when Sherlock grudgingly lifted her up onto his shoulders, holding tightly onto her legs so she didn't fall. He didn't want his sister to have photographic evidence of him killing her daughter.

"Smile!" May beamed.

Sherlock winced as Alex gripped his hair to keep upright.

"Come on, Sherlock!"

The end result was a batter-y, grimacing Sherlock with a beaming toddler clinging onto his curls. However, as May inspected the picture, she noticed something odd in the background. The flour looked awfully close to the edge of the counter…

"Come on, let's put you down here," she heard her brother say, turning around to put Alex down on the floor beneath the counter with the flour on.

Alex reached up, trying to pull herself onto the surface.

"No!" May yelled, seeing exactly what was about to happen.

Too late.

Alex screamed as the entire two kilogram bag of flour tipped over and spilt all over her, hair, face, denim dungarees, and all.

"Eyes!" she cried, trying to rub them but in fact rubbing more flour into them.

Acting fast, Sherlock picked her up and sat her near the sink, running the tap over some kitchen roll to clean her eyes. But as Alex thrashed in pain, her foot caught the carton of eggs, sending the remaining five dive-bombing onto the floor. Two splashed up Sherlock's trouser leg, making him jolt and burn his foot on the oven.

"Shit!" he swore, not caring if Alex was there or not, hopping on one foot.

Alex continued to wail as her mother took over from Sherlock in cleaning the flour from her face, so now _she _was covered in white powder and standing in eggshells.

The final straw was when the cake batter went over, spilling all down the fridge and landing in a gloopy heap on the tiles. The three occupants of the kitchen looked at it in disappointment.

May turned to Sherlock accusingly, "Look what you did!"

His eyes widened, "What I did?!"

"Yes, you!"

"Get down," Alex whined, stuck on the floury work surface.

She was ignored.

"This was your idea!" Sherlock defended.

"You were the one who put her where the flour was!"

"How can you blame _me _for this? Look what you've done to my kitchen!"

"Please," Alex moaned, again being ignored.

"It wouldn't have happened if you hadn't–"

Through their shouting, no one heard the door open or Alex go silent.

"It was a stupid idea anyway!"

"Oh, heaven forbid I try to do something nice for the great Sherlock Holmes! I should have just bought you a really crap cake from a service station!"

"They don't even sell cakes!"

"Then I'd get them to make you one made of diesel!"

"Now look who's the sociopath!"

"Oh, don't bring out the sociopath card, Sherlock!"

"Oh, piss off!"

"Sherlock, you can't say that around Alex!"

Sherlock stopped mid-rant, "Where is Alex?"

May looked back to the kitchen top where she had been sat, "I… um…"

Sherlock frowned, "Alex?"

"She couldn't get down from that height on her own," May said confusedly, their argument now completely forgotten.

It was then they heard Alex low mutterings coming from the living room, as usual, only 20% being actual English. Exchanging bemused looks, the two floury, eggy, batter-y siblings opened the door to the living room to see Alex sat cross-legged on the floor munching on a slice of chocolate cake. Her dirty clothes laid in a pile by the door and she was sat with her dressing gown on. Behind her, Mycroft sat in Sherlock's chair, combing out the flour from her hair. When he saw his younger siblings, he couldn't help but chuckle and point to the cake Alex was chomping on.

"You really think for one second I would let my niece eat anything _you two _cooked up?"

* * *

**Have to admit, the dungarees were a nod to my childhood! **

**HUGE thank you to: Guest, shnuffeluv, Ma13, RainbowSilenced, and Noriah for reviewing!**

**Replies shall be sent to you now!**

**Also, Exception was updated yesterday with next installment of Hounds of Baskerville. It is also double in length because of the lack of update last week. Check it out and let me know what you think!**

**Thanks for reading,**

**Please review,**

**Abby ****(genuinely wrote Alex by accident there, haha)**

**X**


	8. Dulux Daybreak Tulips

**Disclaimer: I do not own Sherlock or anything related to the show. All rights go to the BBC. I own Alex :)**

**Author's Note: Back in the wifi cafe! I apologise for mistakes because I am being ushered out of the door because they're sick of me, haha.**

**Enjoy:**

_Alex is six months old._

May was sick. Sick of looking around the small house she owned, and only being able to see the ghosts of the past. Late nights spent crying into a pillow in order to not wake up the finally sleeping baby upstairs, days spent alone, sat in a mindless stupor. Every time she walked through the door, she immediately felt the walls closing in around her, strangling her with their darkness.

Well now she was sick of it.

So off came the black wallpaper and out came the freshly bought tins of bright yellow paint. One moment of insanity in a DIY store and that was it. Even Alex seemed to sit and stare at her with an incredulous look on her small face.

She had gotten to the point of having moved all of the furniture out into the garden and ripped up the carpets before realising she wasn't going to be able to complete the momentous task of decorating downstairs alone. After a few minutes of hesitation, she finally enlisted the help of her older brother.

"What is it exactly you want me to do?" Sherlock asked as she let him in.

He stopped, seeing the state of the hallway.

"What on Earth have you done?"

May ran a hand through her hair – Sherlock noted the extra volume in her locks and deduced she had been doing that a lot in the past few days.

"Just a project I might have taken a bit too far," May admitted. "Couldn't help me paint could you?"

Sherlock sighed, "Here I thought my days of decorating your rooms were over."

"I'm only eighteen," she reminded him, eyes wider than usual. _"Please."_

He sighed again, "What do you want me to do first?"

As soon as the words left his mouth, the unmistakable cry of a baby came from upstairs.

"Deal with Alex while I open the paint."

Sherlock nodded as his sister disappeared into the living room, and he ascended the stairs. Alex's room was next to the bathroom, just by the side of the stairs. It was a box room but it managed to fit a cot and some wardrobes. Mycroft had wanted to buy them a bigger house but May had refused, saying it would be too empty.

The crying didn't stop as Sherlock entered the room.

"Hello, again," he said, standing in front of the cot. He waited a few moments. "Are you going to stop crying yet?"

She shut her mouth, but the tears didn't stop.

"That's a step in the right direction. I'm guessing you're hungry? When did your mother last feed you?"

She recommenced her crying.

"That long?" Sherlock asked sympathetically, leaning down into the cot and picking her up. "I'm sure you're exaggerating."

Alex shook her head fervidly against his shoulder, blubbering.

He carried her downstairs and took some pre-prepared meals for her that Mycroft had people make, and gave it to her. After that, she slowly quietened and gave him his first smile of the day.

"You look a lot less unappealing when you're smiling," Sherlock told her. "Let's go and see what your mother is up to."

She crawled after him as he walked slowly into the living room. His eyes widened at the sight before him. May was sat in the middle of the empty room, surrounded by a circle of bright yellow paint tins and various brushes and rollers. When she noticed Sherlock in the doorway, she smiled somewhat manically.

"Oh great, you gave her lunch. Thanks. She's been asleep for ages. Right, I was thinking we can take two walls each."

Sherlock picked up one of the tins, "Please tell me you are _not _painting your house this colour?"

"What's wrong with it?"

"Nothing if you want Alex to grow up blind."

"Oh come on, it's a happy colour. I'm tired of it being depressing in here. You like it, don't you Alex?"

Sherlock turned around and picked up his niece, thrusting her in front of his sister.

"You see this face?" he nodded to Alex. "This is the face of 'what on Earth are you doing, Mummy'."

"Shut up," May said. "Alex, do you want to paint a bit of the wall yourself? You want to use one of these paintbrushes."

Alex nodded, clapping her hands together.

May gave Sherlock a smug look, "See, she does like it. Anyway, you don't have to live here."

"Neither do you half the time."

"I thought you liked having Alex and me round," May said, taking her daughter out of Sherlock's hands and setting her down in front of the patch of blank wall.

"Whatever gave you that impression?"

May's only reply was pushing a paintbrush in his hand, "That's your wall. Paint."

He rolled his eyes, wincing as he submerged the brush in the vibrant yellow paint, "You're going to regret this."

"I won't."

It was, in fact, two hours later that May really began to regret the new colour scheme. After her eyes started to hurt. But, for the sake of her pride, she decided she wouldn't give Sherlock the satisfaction of being right – something he was in no small supply of – and carry on unfazed. That was until she saw the state of her daughter.

"Oh, for God's sake, Alex!"

Sherlock peered over his shoulder, not even bothering to conceal a laugh at the now yellow baby.

"It's not funny!" May chastised, looking in desperation at her own painted hands. "Go and clean her up would you?"

"Only if you admit that this was a terrible idea."

"Oh, for f–"

"If_ I_ can't swear in front of the baby,_ you_ can't swear in front of the baby. The baby that's now getting everything you own covered in… oh, Dulux Daybreak Tulips," Sherlock read off the can.

May glared at him, "Fine, this was an awful idea and now I have a bombsight for a living room and a bombsight for a daughter. Happy?"

"Immensely," Sherlock said, walking over to Alex and picking her up with immaculate hands.

She whined at being taken away from her masterpiece , really just some faint swirls, and was even more distraught when Sherlock told her where he was taking her. He didn't think he had ever met a child who hated baths more than Alex.

He carried her to the bathroom and filled the sink with water. She squirmed and whined as he peeled off her ruined onesie, but not before sending a picture to Mycroft with the caption:

**She's got Jaundice. One for the memory book.**

He didn't reply, but Sherlock could practically hear his brother's exasperated sigh.

"Right," he said, looking Alex in the eye seriously. "There are two ways we can do this. One takes a lot longer and a lot more effort than the other. The other also involves possible drowning and swearing, which your mother wouldn't like."

Alex stared back at him.

"Now, I'm going to let you decide because I'm not the repressing uncle, that's the older one. So, option one," he held up one finger. "For this being quick and painless. Or option two," he held up to fingers. "For it being the opposite."

He repeated the process twice then pointed to Alex, "You choose."

Thankfully, she held up one finger and everything went without a hitch until Sherlock accidently forgot to cover her face when he washed her hair, and some rouge suds got into her eyes. He had immediately taken her out then and rinsed her hair and eyes.

When he managed to wash away the yellow from the sink, Alex was sat on her bedroom floor in her purple Winnie the Pooh pyjamas, wet black curls falling onto her shoulders.

"You okay?" he asked.

She mumbled some nonsense that Sherlock had begun to understand as meaning 'yes'.

"Good," he took one of her coats from her wardrobe and wrangled her arms into it. "I think you and your mother will be staying with me tonight."

After being so excited painting the wall and having Uncle Sherlock over, Alex's energy was beginning to wane. She groaned, rubbing her eyes with her fist and pointing to her cot.

"You're sleeping at my flat," he repeated to her, balancing her on his hip. "Think you can wait that long."

She once again gibbered in the affirmative but was asleep before Sherlock reached the bottom of the stairs. Sherlock repositioned her to more evenly spread out her weight and walked into the living room.

"Right, come on," he told his sister.

May looked up at him miserably, "What have I done to my house?"

"I'll get Mycroft to call in some decorators and sort it out."

"No," May stood up, pacing to the window. "I'm meant to do this stuff. I mean, I'm a mum now. I shouldn't be like this. I shouldn't have to go running to you and Mycroft all the time."

"You're only eighteen," Sherlock reminded her much as she had reminded him earlier that day. "You're allowed to get stuck. Now hurry up and get your coat."

"Alex doesn't even have a cot at yours."

"I'll watch her on the sofa while you take my bed."

"I can't take your bed."

"Of course you can, I hardly use it."

"Take Alex," May said. "Take Alex back to yours, I'll stay here."

"What, so you can sit on your own in your garden until it gets dark and cold, just staring into open space? No, you're coming with me."

"Sherlock, I can't–"

"Sister, you're really starting to irritate me now."

May sighed and looked at him. After a few moments of deliberation, she relented, "Okay, I'm coming."

* * *

It just showed how tired Alex was, as she didn't even stir as they entered and exited the taxi, and walked past Sherlock's noisy neighbours to his flat. However, Sherlock thought his sister looked the most tired. She trailed behind him as he unlocked the door and let her in.

"I'm going for a shower," she said, rubbing her eyes and disappearing into the bathroom.

Sherlock watched her go, troubled, his sister's daughter still fast asleep in his arms. He sat down in his chair, making sure Alex was in a comfortable enough position to continue sleeping, and sent a text to Mycroft.

**May needs a decorator. They're staying with me – SH**

His brother's reply was slightly delayed, obviously thinking about what to say to that.

**Has she taken her medication? – MH**

Sherlock narrowed his eyes, thinking back to when he first walked through the door at May's flat, trying to deduce.

**I take your silence as a no. There's your first port of call. Don't screw it up if you've managed to convince her to come with you – MH**

**Only you screw up when it comes to our sister – SH**

Sherlock thought back to all the time May rebelled against his brother's grasp and thought his response was perfectly justified.

"Sherlock," May put a hand on the coffee table. "It was under your pillow."

He hadn't heard her come out of the bathroom.

"I'm off to bed," she didn't look at Alex. "'Night."

"May," she turned. "You haven't taken your tablets."

"I have."

"You haven't."

"I have."

"May."

She gritted her teeth and looked away, "I don't need them."

"You know you do. You haven't been taking them for the past week."

"And I've been fine!"

"You forgot to give Alex breakfast this morning. Lunch was the first meal she'd had."

May opened her mouth to dispute the statement, then shut it again with a look of shock.

"Oh, God…" she shakily sat in the chair opposite her brother, putting her head in her hands. "I… I thought she was asleep."

"Maybe you've become acclimatised to the sound of crying," Sherlock said bluntly.

"I can't do this," May shook her head, voice cracking. "These six months… I just…"

"The past two years haven't been your best."

"I can't do this," she repeated, her words punctuated with a sob.

"You can. I said I'd help with looking after her – she isn't very high maintenance – and Mycroft will do anything you want him to to help. But you need to take care of yourself. Take your medication, get better, then you can take better care of Alex."

May nodded, wiping away her tears, "I don't have any tablets with me."

"Top left cupboard beside the fridge. I figured you'd forget at some point."

She swallowed and went to the indicated cupboard, downing one of her pills with a glass of water. She then put the glass in the sink and leant against the draining board.

"I'm drowsy enough right now."

"Go to sleep. Just throw any more body parts you find on the floor, I'll get them later."

May gave him a small smile and was about to go to his bedroom when she stopped and turned back.

"I don't think I've ever really thanked you and Mycroft the way I should have. You didn't have to help me. I wouldn't after how I treated you."

Sherlock shrugged, "You're my sister. Our parents would string me up if I didn't."

"That the only reason?" she asked with a weak laugh.

"Of course."

She smiled, "Goodnight, Sherlock."

"Likewise."

"'Night, Alex."

Of course, her daughter didn't stir from Sherlock's shoulder.

Throughout the night, Sherlock held his niece, deep in thought. It wasn't uncommon for him to worry about his sister, even more so over the past few years, but now more than ever, he could see her breaking.

He looked down at the sleeping baby and thought that if it wasn't for Alex, his sister would have probably already been broken.

* * *

** Author's Note: I really wanted to show the vulnerable side of May here and flesh out her character a little more. I hope this can also give you a few hints as to what happened that night when Alex was six. **

**HUGE thank you to: Noriah, FlewandFlied, shnuffeluv, and RainbowSilenced for reviewing!**

**Replies will be sent to you as soon as I can (wifi permitting)**

**Thanks for reading,**

**Please review,**

**Abby**

**X**


	9. A Long, Long Night

**Disclaimer: I do not own Sherlock or anything related to the show. All rights go to the BBC. I own Alex :)**

**Author's Note: Hey! Thanks so much for your prompts and ideas! Keep 'em coming! Nice little fluffy chapter for you here, hope you enjoy. This is for shnuffeluv asking for more pre-toddler Alex! :D**

**Chapter 10 is written and will be published this time next week. I'm trying Exception on a Sunday and Little Innocent on a Wednesday.**

**Enjoy!**

* * *

_Alex is four months old._

* * *

"I think she has insomnia."

Mycroft groaned into his hand, "Oh Sherlock, please shut up."

Sherlock glared at him, "Hey, I've had less sleep than you in the past fortnight."

"I thought you prided yourself on your bouts of not-sleeping."

Sherlock readjusted Alex in his arms, "Not when I actually need to sleep so I don't fall unconscious in the middle of a crime scene."

"Stop exaggerating," Mycroft said with a yawn. "Our sister's had it the worst. I don't think she's slept properly for weeks."

"That's why she's passed out upstairs and we're sat here with her Red Bull baby," Sherlock muttered. "She's not stupid our sister."

"Hmm, I think she's had us both this time. Is she showing _any _signs of being tired at all?"

Sherlock balanced his niece on his knee, looking at her closely. She grinned back at him.

"Not even remotely."

Mycroft put his head in his hands, trying to repress a yawn, "Try putting her in the… the… thing…"

"The playpen?"

"You know I hate calling it that. She's not a dog."

"Well what else do you want to call it?" Sherlock snapped. "Jungle Gym? That's ambitious. And she hates it."

"Just _try!"_

Sherlock rolled his eyes and stood up, carrying Alex over to the pop-up pen filled with rattles and mobiles, padded with jungle-themed cushions. He lowered her in carefully, pursing his lips as her eyes widened, seeing what he was doing. As soon as she was sat in the pen, Sherlock took a step back, holding out his hands and crossing his fingers.

"Is it working?" Mycroft asked in astonishment as he stood.

Sherlock locked eyes with Alex, tilting his head slightly to the side, "Come on, please you brilliant little girl, please…"

For a moment, everything seemed to stand still, everything silent, hope hanging in the air.

"I don't believe it," Mycroft mumbled.

No sooner had the words left his mouth that Alex opened her mouth and bawled. She threw out her arms expectantly, screaming so loud that Sherlock had the sudden thought that she would wake his sister up, three floors away from them. He quickly stooped down and picked her back up, putting a hand on her back when she cried into his shoulder.

"Okay, okay, no playpen. Shush, stop crying. Come on, be a good girl and be quiet. Please, _please," _Sherlock said, rubbing her back. "Stop now, Alex. Be a normal, nice little girl. Nice babies don't cry."

She didn't quieten in the slightest.

"Maybe she's hungry?" Sherlock suggested a little frantically, looking at his brother.

"Give her to me and go and get a bottle. There's a load in the kitchen. Warm one up."

More than happy to surrender the screaming child, Sherlock went to hand her to his brother. That was easier said than done, however, as Alex seemed dead-set on clinging to his shirt, wailing.

"No, no, no, let go of me, go to Uncle Mycroft," Sherlock gasped dramatically, trying to capture her attention. "Uncle Mycroft wants a hug, yes, I know I tell you he's an idiot but I'm willing to set that aside if it means you will let me get out of this room. Go on, give Uncle Mycroft a hug."

Though she was still crying, that seemed to work, and she held out her arms to Mycroft. As his brother took her, Sherlock hurriedly crossed the room and made for the kitchen. He heard her crying increase in volume when he went out of her sight, and he fumbled with warming the bottle of milk. The moment he stepped back in the room, Alex yelled out for him.

"Yes, yes, I'm back. You're hungry, yes? Drink this then you'll stop crying?" Sherlock said in a pleading tone.

Alex buried her face in Mycroft's shoulder, refusing to even look at the bottle.

"_Please, _Alex," Mycroft said.

Though her cries were muffled by the fabric of his shirt, they were still as earnest as before.

"I told you we shouldn't put her in the playpen," Sherlock hissed, throwing the bottle on Mycroft's desk. "At least before that she was wide-awake and _quiet."_

"Oh shut up, arguing isn't going to make this any better. You know she cries when we disagree."

"And _you _know she cries when you put her in the playpen, yet you still insist on doing that."

"You are absolutely ridiculous," Mycroft shook his head, wincing as the wailing grew louder.

Sherlock, too, flinched at the volume of his niece's voice. He held out his hands, "Give her here."

"Why?"

"Because she likes me more, that's why."

"She _does not _like you more," Mycroft said exasperatedly.

"Of course she does!"

"Sherlock, she is four months old, you cannot start pitting her against me already."

"So I should just let her come to her own conclusions?"

"Yes."

Sherlock leaned over to where Alex was blubbering, "He's an arse. See, saved you the trouble. That's why you like me more."

Mycroft rolled his eyes, "You can't swear in front of her."

"Oh, it isn't like she can understand what we're saying," Sherlock snapped.

"No, but children her age are essentially parrots. How do you think it would go down with our sister when her dear sweet daughter starts spouting off like Frankie Boyle on a pub crawl?"

Sherlock couldn't help but laugh at that, "I can't seem to manage to delete him from my mind palace."

"Hmm, we have May to thank for that," Mycroft muttered.

Alex, seemingly irritated now by her incompetent uncles, let out the loudest scream by far. Mycroft now had no qualm with handing her to Sherlock.

"What does it say in those parenting books?" Sherlock asked.

"Rocking her, feeding her, changing her, talking to her, playing with her, or just leave her to cry."

"Well we've tried all of those except from the last one, which is barbaric. She'll probably cry that much she'll be mute for the rest of her life."

"That doesn't look too bad at the moment."

"What about a bath?" Sherlock suddenly said, the thought striking him. "She's usually tired after that."

"Because she has one before bed, that's why. She's just tired because she hasn't been to sleep for hours. It won't make any difference if she goes in now. It's… oh God it's four o'clock in the morning. I have to meet up with the German chancellor in three hours."

"You're not the only one with responsibilities. I'm meant to be looking at a body right now."

"If this child doesn't stop caterwauling, you might soon be."

Sherlock lifted her up as she began to slide, walking over to the door, "And that's why you like me better. At least I don't threaten to murder you."

Mycroft scoffed, "Where are you going?"

"To run the bath. It's the only option we have now that doesn't involve homicide!" Sherlock shouted from the hallway.

He heard his brother mutter some profanity under his breath before coming to follow him.

The bathroom was small in comparison to the other rooms in the house. It had officially been dubbed Alex's bathroom when she had been born – a pint-sized room for a pint-sized girl. It had since then been painted to have red and green tiles and hold several hundred bath time toys.

As Sherlock had predicted, Alex's cries stopped at the sight of the room. He shot a smug look over his shoulder at his brother as he set Alex down on the bathmat and turned the bath tap on. He then emptied the basket of toys onto the floor for Alex to choose which ones to play with as she hadn't mastered the standing up part of playtime yet.

"That's fine, I'll be clearing that up no doubt," Mycroft mumbled. "That water looks too hot."

Sherlock frowned and put the back of his hand against the surface, "It is actually."

"Could it be we agree on something?" Mycroft said lightly.

"Yes, that your plumbing isn't as child-friendly as mine."

Mycroft scowled at him, "Just add more cold."

After a few minutes of getting the water at the right temperature and depth, it was finally ready.

"Where's that thing – that thing you put her in. Whatever it's called, where is it?"

"Oh, the bath chair thing," the pair really weren't up on baby furniture terminology. "That broke. It's supposed to have been replaced."

"Well isn't that fantastic," Sherlock said angrily.

"Baa!" Alex exclaimed, pointing at the bath. "Bub-bub-bub-bub-bub-bub!"

"Yes, Uncle Mycroft, Alex wants to go in the bath to play with the bubbles but someone forgot to mention he hasn't got the key safety feature that makes going in the bath possible for someone as young as her," Sherlock glared at Mycroft. "What a terrible uncle."

Alex's eyes filled with tears, face crumpling, turning on Mycroft with accusation in her eyes, even though she didn't understand the situation at all.

"We're never going to get her to go to sleep now," Sherlock said.

"Look, she can sit up perfectly fine on her own. We're both here so she won't drown. She might be fine without the chair."

"Would you really be so reckless with your own niece's life, Mycroft?" Sherlock asked condescendingly.

Mycroft bridled at his tone, "Just remember who's head of this family.

Sherlock scoffed, "Is that why we're so dysfunctional?"

"Sherlock, for God's sake–"

"Baa!" Alex cried, tears falling down her cheeks.

Both brothers turned accusingly to the other, "Look what you've done now!"

Sherlock sighed, "We'll have to try it. One baby drowns in the bath every other year in the UK, really don't want Alex to be the next statistic. May would drown _us."_

"Stop being dramatic. Just put her in!"

Sherlock gave him one last glare and scooped her up, holding up her head and making sure she was sat up properly when she entered the water. She gave him a curious look, sensing something was different, but seemed content enough to splash her arms in the bubbles. Once he was confident she wasn't going to slip or fall, he slowly let go and sat on the mat.

"See, I told you she'd be okay," Mycroft said, leaning against the wall with a tired grunt. "I still don't see how this is going to make her fall asleep, though."

"Trust me, she will. Just play with her or something, tire her out. Pass that plastic boat."

Mycroft raised an eyebrow but passed the toy nonetheless. Sherlock then gave it to Alex, who squealed in delight and submerged it under the water. He entertained her with various different toys, reinacting shipwrecks and tidal waves. He noticed Mycroft's amused snort when Alex kept wanting to play pirates with the pirate ship. He was more than happy to oblige.

It was only when Alex's fingers had become wrinkled with prolonged exposure to the water, and yet she still showed no signs of tiring, that Sherlock admitted defeat. He couldn't help feeling she had suckered him into playing with her for an hour. It was a feeling that Sherlock was extremely unused to.

And of course, Mycroft couldn't let that slide.

"I told you so," he said pompously. "I told you this wouldn't work."

Sherlock growled, keeping his eyes averted from his brother and fixed on his niece, who was now playing with a floating toy dog. She perked up at the sound of his growl, face knitting into one of concern. Her smile dropped and she shuffled to the back of the bath.

"You've scared her now," Mycroft said, shaking his head. "Well done."

Sherlock repressed the remark on the tip of his tongue and held out his hands to Alex, "I'm not angry with you, I'm angry at your sod of an uncle. Not me, the older, fatter, balder, meaner, stupider one."

"Sherlock, what did I say about children parroting adults?"

"I'm teaching her appropriate adjectives," Sherlock defended, without looking back at Mycroft. "Come on, you look like a prune. Time to come out before you shrivel up completely."

But as he went to lift her out, she shook her head firmly, the beginning of a cry beginning to form on her features.

"Don't you dare start again!"

She turned away from him with a frown, instead looking at the taps. When he tried to pick her up again, she gave a short yelp and he quickly let go.

"Stop letting her manipulate you!" Mycroft said incredulously. "Just pick her up, she's barely able to comprehend the fact she's alive, surely you're capable of overpowering her!"

Sherlock stood up, the bathmat flying out beneath him, "Well why don't you give it a try, Supernanny!?"

"Because this was your ridiculous idea!"

"How is a bath ridiculous?!"

"You're doing it again," Mycroft hissed. "Stop arguing with me, it upsets her!"

Sherlock' eyes widened, "_Me? Me _stop arguing with _you? _Why don't _you _stop arguing with _me?!"_

"Because I'm the smart one, Sherlock!"

"No, I think the smart one in this situation is the only one actually doing what she wants to be doing," he pointed to his niece.

However, in that brief moment he glanced at her, he noticed that she was pulling herself up on the taps. A horrible image of her slipping and cracking her head open surfaced in his Sherlock's mind and he immediately abandoned his row with Mycroft.

"Alex, sit down. Come off the taps."

But, after minutes of twisting and turning, Alex finally managed to turn on the tap. Once it was turning, it was extremely loose and soon a strong jet of water came pouring down on Alex's head. Unfortunately – or fortunately – the temperature was set at the coldest it could go, and was now turning Alex's lukewarm skin icy. No one moved for a moment. She opened her mouth.

If her screams had been loud before, they were deafening now.

"Damn it!" Sherlock cursed, picking a freezing cold and wet Alex up – who now didn't resist in the slightest.

Mycroft handed him a towel and he immediately wrapped it around her, telling her to calm down and that it was only water. Her shouts didn't abate.

"Take her back to the study, put her in front of the fire," Mycroft said, opening the door. "I told you it was a bad idea."

Sherlock didn't give him the satisfaction of glaring as he walked back down the corridor and into the study. He went straight to the fireside and sat in the armchair there, Alex still crying and shivering. Mycroft returned with a thick blanket from Alex's room and gave it to Sherlock to wrap around her, while he sat opposite them.

Eventually, Alex's shivering simmered down to a small twitch. The little mop of black hair she had had dried out into tiny curls and her cries died down as she stared into the fire, her cheek pressed against the crook of Sherlock's neck.

"That's better," Sherlock said, looking down at her. "Are you looking tired?"

Her eyes were slowly beginning to close. Sherlock shared an incredulous look with his brother.

"Is she asleep?" Sherlock mouthed at Mycroft.

Mycroft held up a hand, squinting at his niece, "Nearly… almost… yes, she's asleep."

Sherlock let out a breath, "Thank God. Well, we know what to do next time. Just dowse her in cold water."

"I'm pretty certain that counts as child abuse."

Sherlock shrugged, unconcerned. "I'll go and put her to bed."

"No you won't," Mycroft replied instantly. "Stay exactly where you are."

He frowned at him, "What on Earth are you talking about?"

"Sherlock," he said seriously, getting to his feet. "She hasn't fallen asleep like that for two weeks. The longer she sleeps now, the better. If you stand up, she'll wake up and I definitely won't be meeting with the German chancellor and you will most definitely be looking at a body."

Sherlock grumbled, but saw his point, "Wait, where are you going?"

"To bed," Mycroft answered simply from the doorway. "Try not to fall asleep; wouldn't want you to drop her in the fire."

Sherlock gave his brother a last scowl as he left him sat by the fire holding his sleeping niece, not daring to move a muscle.

Still, there were worse things to be doing, he supposed.

* * *

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	10. Old Sparky

**Disclaimer: I do not own Sherlock or anything related to the show. All rights go to the BBC. I own Alex :)**

**Author's Note: I went back to school today and if you haven't read the author's note that was on Exception, I am going to try my best to continue to update this on Wednesdays and Exception on Sundays. Exams hopefully won't get too far on top of me and I shouldn't be gone for more than two weeks if I ever do disappear.**

**Thank you to emilybrock101 for this prompt!**

* * *

_Alex aged five and a half._

* * *

They had been planning it for months. There were a lot of things in their way though, like Sherlock and Mycroft's inevitable disapproval, Logan's mother not wanting Logan to impose, their complete lack of inexperience, and the fact that they were 'only little' so couldn't make the serious and heartfelt case they wanted to. But despite all that, they were determined they were going to do it. And it was going to be _epic._

"So where would I sleep?" Logan asked, rolling his marble across the road outside Lee's house – the older boy was on holiday and they had been using his home as a base over the summer.

Alex caught his marble as it bounced back off the curb, "In a bed, of course. I wouldn't make you sleep on the floor."

"But which bed? I don't think your uncles would like it if we were sharing the same bed."

Alex nodded, seeing his point, "We'll just have to make do. We could build a fort and sleep in that. It'd be at Sherlock's because I'm staying there while Mum gets better, and he has the best cushions for forts ever."

"Are they fancy like your Uncle Mycroft's?"

"No, that's what makes them so good."

Logan grinned, picking up another marble and rolling it between his fingers, "What food would we have?"

"Hmm, chocolate?"

"Yup. And popcorn!"

"And those weird jelly worm things!"

"And brownies."

"Cookies?"

"As long as they're not peanut butter."

"Oh I like peanut butter."

"We'll go half and half."

Alex laid back onto Lee's front door with a sigh, "We just need to convince Uncle Sherlock now. And Uncle Mycroft too because he watches everything and wouldn't be best pleased if he saw you sleeping over without him knowing."

"You'll convince them," Logan said confidently. "Then you need to convince them to get amazing movies and food and cushion forts and games."

"I don't see why they would deny us this," Alex said in that too-grown-up voice of hers. "It's a rite of passage! Our _first _sleepover. It has to be the best."

"When were you thinking?"

"I'm staying at Mycroft's until tonight when I go to Sherlock's, so it'll have to be tomorrow night."

"Well you know what you need to do."

"What?"

Logan looked her in the eye seriously, "You need to be good for the next two days."

Alex thought about it, then smiled, "I can do that."

"No, I mean extra good. Like extra extra _extra _good."

Alex's smile fell, "Oh. How do you be extra good? I'm pretty sure I've only been just good. Sometimes."

"Have you done that special homework Mrs Duarte set you?"

"The summer booklet with fifty pages? That's not homework, that's lines. Torture. She could be arrested for that you know. And in some states in America, she could be given to Old Sparky."

"What's Old Sparky?" Logan leaned closer.

"Not what, _who. _Anyway, you don't want to know."

"I do!"

"You're too young."

"I'm a year older than you!"

"Your body is but your mind is still stuck in a pushchair."

Logan batted her none-to-lightly on the head, "Oi, I'm offended at that."

Alex punched him back just as hard, "Tough. The truth hurts."

They both maintained stony expressions before dissolving into laughter.

"Come on then," Logan said through his giggles. "Tell me about Old Sparky."

Alex sobered, still a grin on her face though, "Okay. It's this person who was really bad, like he killed hundreds of people in America years and years ago. Kids, too. So the policemen took him away and said he should be killed for all the people whose lives he took. What's that quote from that book again? That big one to do with religion? Means do what someone did to you…?"

"A nose for a nose," Logan said.

Alex nodded gravely, "They said a nose for a nose. And that was a lot of noses because he'd killed so many people. So they took him into this really dark room in a dungeon and tried to kill him."

"How?"

"They tried to strangle him. But when the policemen called Andy Son put his hands around the man's neck, _he _died."

_"_What_? How?!"_

"The murderer had electrocuted him. And so when another policeman tried and he died too, the chief policeman, Lester Raad, said no more and he put the murderer into a chair. Lester Raad said that he murderer would stay there for all eternity. And you know how bodies crumble up like crumbs when someone's dead?"

"Yeah like that picture your uncle showed me."

"We're not supposed to talk about that," Alex muttered, then picked up her story again. "Anyway the murderer did that and the bone dust went into the chair he was strapped to. And now, any time someone touches the chair, they get electrocuted. They put other murderers in the chair so Sparky can kill them to make up for all the people he killed. Nose for a nose and all that."

"He's still there now?" Logan asked, shocked.

"Yup. Waiting to zap bad people."

"Are you sure that's right?"

Alex gave him an affronted look, "Of course it's right! Uncle Sherlock told me and he's much clever than you."

"Okay, okay," Logan held up his hands.

"He tells the story better. It's one of my favourites."

"You think he'll tell me on Friday?"

Alex stood up, helping Logan up with her, "We'll have to ask him. What time is it?"

She held out her watch-clad wrist, still having difficulties telling the time for some reason.

"Five o'clock."

"I should go wait by the park for one of Uncle Mycroft's cars if I want to be extra good," she said, retracting her wrist.

"And eat all your dinner. Grown-ups lap that up. Oh, and give them an impromptu hug when they're not busy. And just look cute."

"Ooh, impromptu," Alex teased. "I'm rubbing off on you."

Logan rolled his eyes, "Go on, hurry up."

"You'll be okay here on your own?"

"Course I will be, I can see my house. I'll just walk back," he turned and began to leave, shouting as he did so. "Remember–"

_"Extra good," _they chanted in unison.

* * *

Later that day, after finishing every last mouthful of her dinner – even though the last quarter felt like chewing carpet after a filling – Alex sat at her desk with an exhausted frown upon her face, a low, guttural sound emitting from her. It must have been the longest she had ever sat still in her life, hunched over the booklet she had been given as 'homework'. Hand cramping, she just managed the last page and she threw down the pen. She looked down at her hands. They were red, blisters already growing on the inside of her index finger.

As Alex was so advanced in her classes, she had been given the work people three years older than her would be doing, and then some. Most of it was boring and menial, like identifying which animals were which and describing different pictures using adjectives and adverbs. Only one aspect was particularly challenging, and that was the question asking her about what she thought about bullies. Alex went on a psychological rant, then read the note at the bottom of the page: _one word answer._ Alex nearly threw the damn thing out of the window then but somehow managed to find the restraint to get it finished.

Finally, jaw set in determination, Alex picked up the booklet and marched to Mycroft's study. She would usually be in trouble if she was sent there, but knew that her uncle wouldn't be finished working for another couple of hours, and this was a matter of urgency.

Forgetting what Logan told her about being cute, Alex kept that deep frown on her face as she knocked on the door, waited for a reply, then entered.

"Thank you for knocking," Mycroft said without looking up from his work. "What can I do for you, Alex?"

Alex didn't say anything, she just walked up to his desk and slammed the thick booklet over the report he was signing. He looked up at her with a raised eyebrow.

"Homework," Alex said. "All done. Every page."

He put down his pen and picked up the booklet, flicking through the pages, "You started this today?"

"About three hours ago."

Mycroft gave her an impressed look, "This is a nice change. I also hear you were waiting for Bainbridge when he came to pick you up. He was getting rather sick of chasing you around the streets. He was very impressed."

"Good, he ought to bloody be," Alex said without thinking. "Sorry. Didn't mean to say that. I'm good now."

Mycroft leant back in his chair, clearly amused, "Really?"

"Yup. No, actually, not just good, _extra _good. I even ate all of my dinner even though it tasted of soggy newspaper."

"Alex."

"Sorry. I mean, it tasted delicious."

"Better," he failed to hide his smirk. "So what has brought about this change?

"Nothing. I'm just a changed woman."

"Woman?" Mycroft laughed. "Alex, you seem to be forgetting the fact you're only five. I've only just stopped classifying you as a baby."

"Hey!" Alex exclaimed indignantly. "I'm not a baby! And I'm five and half actually. And I'm being extra good."

"You barely exceed the bounds of being averagely well-behaved at times. I think extra good might be a little bit of an exaggeration, don't you?"

Alex deflated, crossing her arms over her chest and flopping down in the chair on the opposite side of the desk, "I didn't even do anything wrong and I'm getting told off. It's this bloody room."

"Language."

"See? The room's making me do it," she picked at the sleeve of her striped shirt. "…How's Mum?"

"She's okay," Mycroft said carefully. "Not well enough to look after you yet. She's tired."

"There's something wrong with her head, isn't there?" Alex said quietly.

Looking up at the lack of verbal response, Alex saw Mycroft nod.

"Is she going to get better?"

"Yes."

"Can I make her better?"

Mycroft pursed his lips at her, but not in the way he usually did when she had done something naughty, in a sympathetic fashion, "You can help her get better by not getting into trouble and being good."

"I'm being extra good."

"Excellent… so what is it that you're after?" he asked.

"I don't know what you mean," Alex said innocently.

"You know exactly what I mean."

"When's Uncle Sherlock coming?"

"He should be on his way. Don't try to distract me, Alex. You know it doesn't work."

"Distract you from what? I don't want anything. I'm just being good because I want to make life easier for you and do well in school and stay safe. Being good is…" it was painful for Alex to finish. "_Fun."_

Mycroft stared at her, a smirk tugging at the corners of his lips, "I wish that were true, dear niece. Unfortunately, both of us know it isn't."

"You always think the worse of me, Uncle Mycroft," Alex shook her head in mock sadness, but inside she was panicking. He was onto her! This plan wouldn't work if he knew what her endgame was. _Think, Alex, think, think, think! What did Logan say?!_

"Ah, in here again are you?" the sound of Sherlock's voice made her stand up and whip around to face him. "What have you done this time?"

That was when she remembered.

She bounded over and wrapped her arms around her uncle. Given her height, she just ended up hugging his legs. He gave her a pat on the head, looking down at her in confusion.

"She wants something," Mycroft supplied.

"Evidently."

"No I don't!" Alex insisted, letting go. "I'm just being good!"

"Oh, how dull. Has he finally managed to infect you?" Sherlock pointed to his brother in disdain.

Alex frowned, "Of course not. Being good is… bad?"

"No!" Mycroft said, at the same time Sherlock said. "Yes."

"Sherlock," Mycroft said warningly.

The tone made Alex recoil and hide behind Sherlock's legs, "He's using that voice. You're in trouble now."

"Anything he says has little effect on me. So why are you deciding to be so good all of a sudden? Anything to do with a sleepover?"

Alex gasped, "How did you know?"

"Just that you've been planning it in secret for the past few weeks."

"Sleepover? With whom?" Mycroft asked with a frown.

"Logan, of course," Alex said as if it were obvious. "So can we?"

"Can Logan Baxter sleepover at my flat? The flat with two beds, one of which is mine?"

"There's mine, we can share," Alex said.

Mycroft spoke up, "You are most certainly not sharing a bed with that boy."

"He's better than that one with the stupid name," Sherlock said.

"Raz?"

"Yes, that one. We'd wake up with nothing but the clothes on our backs. That's if we were lucky."

"Oh, come on," Alex said. "It was one time and he gave it back! He didn't even get sent to the young offender's thing. He only had to have anger management classes and therapy."

"Which time was this?"

"When he stole that man's watch."

"Hmm, didn't know about that one. Thanks for giving me yet another reason to hate him," Sherlock said with an unnerving smile.

"Fine, you can hate Raz, I like him the least. But you can't hate Logan! I forbid it. And I also forbid you from saying no to a sleepover. Everyone else in the class has sleepovers all the time and Logan's mum is completely cool with it. Mum would let me."

"In case it escaped your notice, we're not your mother, Alex," Mycroft said.

"Obviously," Alex snapped. "I'm not stupid."

"When you do things like ask if you can spend the night sharing a bed with a hooligan boy from your school, I wonder."

"Mycroft, they _are _five and six. Alex doesn't even know about all… _that, _yet," Sherlock said.

"All what?" Alex asked.

"Nothing," Sherlock and Mycroft replied at the same time.

Mycroft gave a long-suffering sigh, "You can't say you are really on board with this?"

"They'll get that excited they'll be asleep by half-nine."

"And you really think you're capable of looking after _two _children?"

"I'll hardly be looking after him," Sherlock said. "Give them some food and videos, that's it."

Alex's eyes lit up, "So we can?!"

"I don't see why not."

"I don't think it's a good idea," Mycroft said stubbornly.

"Yet another thing we disagree on then," Sherlock said with a sarcastic smile, holding out his hand to Alex to take. "Come on. I expect you'll want to stock up on E-numbers."

"Yes! Thank you! Oh, and can you tell us my favourite story when he comes round?" Alex babbled excitedly, taking his hand.

She didn't miss Sherlock's panicked look as Mycroft asked, "Which one would that be?"

"The one about Old Sparky! It's my favourite one from Uncle Sherlock."

Mycroft turned to Sherlock with raised eyebrows, "Oh, Old Sparky. Doesn't that sound a delightful story for a_ five_ year-old."

"It is. My favourite part is when the child murderer gets fried and his brain goes all mushy and his eyes fall out–"

"Right, come on, Alex. Time to go," Sherlock rushed out, pulling her behind him.

She pouted at him, mildly annoyed that he would interrupt her mid-way through his story, "I'll tell you later, Uncle Mycroft!"

As Sherlock pulled her around the door, he muttered, "No you won't. Definitely won't. Or you will never have a friend over again. You will never have a friend again. Understand?"

Alex narrowed her eyes at him, "… You've been naughty again, haven't you?"

"Shut up."

* * *

Just as Sherlock had predicted, the next night, Alex and Logan had crashed out just after ten, a little later than he had expected but they had shown surprising resilience – perhaps from the vast amounts of fizzy cola bottles the two consumed.

The moment he heard the rabble in Alex's room die down, and Logan zip up the sleeping bag his mother had provided, along with a blow-up camping bed, Sherlock let out a sigh of relief. At least the boy hadn't killed himself earlier jumping around like a lunatic, all Sherlock had to worry about now was if he died in his sleep. He didn't really have time for the court case, and his niece would probably never speak to him again.

Nevertheless, there was nothing he could do if Logan Baxter choked on his tongue, so Sherlock felt safe to enter his mind palace and zone out form the small flat.

He woke up some hours later, opening the door to his palace and stepping back into reality. Unfortunately. It was much more interesting in his own head. Alex had kept telling him off for staying there for too long and even though she was sleeping, there was always a niggling feeling that she was glaring at him. It was that feeling that brought him around at two o'clock that morning.

He jolted when he saw who was laid on the sofa opposite.

His niece gave a light snore.

"Alex," he said, getting up from his chair, walking over to the sofa and shaking her shoulder.

She grunted and tried to roll over, only succeeding in squashing her nose against the back of the sofa. Unable to breathe, she groaned and turned back over with a scowl.

"Why are you asleep out here?"

Alex blinked up at him blearily, not answering.

"Alex?"

"Logan's breathing," Alex moaned.

Sherlock frowned, "Well that's… good?"

"Not when it's in your ear," she scoffed, then paused, looking pensive. "Mycroft was right. I don't like sleepovers."

"Don't tell him that," Sherlock shuddered to think about it. "So you're thinking of staying out here all night?"

"All morning," Alex corrected. "It's morning, right?"

"I'm the smart one," Sherlock said, a teasing undertone to his voice. "That's what Mycroft used to tell me. Don't be smart."

Alex's eyes were heavy with sleep as she gave a tired smile and pulled the blanket closer around herself, "Nah, _you're _definitely the smart one," she yawned. "You let me get away with stuff."

"I thought you were extra good now?"

Alex shrugged, voice croaky as she said, "You think I can go back to being just good?"

Sherlock made a face.

"Okay, a bit not good then," Alex said.

Sherlock couldn't help a small laugh at that, "Your grammar isn't improving, I see."

Alex buried her face in her pillow in embarrassment, "Hate you."

"You know, I rather like it," Sherlock said, amused. "A bit not good. Sums you up succinctly."

"Shu'p, Shrck," she mumbled, close to sleep.

"Just don't use it around Mycroft. Actually, do, it'll annoy him."

"What… abou'… Mum?"

He gave her a smile, "I think she'll laugh."

Alex smiled back tiredly, "I'll tell… her… when she's better."

"Go back to sleep," Sherlock said. "Or you'll be a nightmare all day and I have a case."

"Can… I help?"

"That depends if you're good."

"And if I'm a bit not good?"

"I suppose that will have to do."

"Okay," she snuggled down into the sofa. "Sweet dreams."

"I won't be dreaming. I'll be checking your stupid friend doesn't smother himself with his sleeping bag."

He knew she was asleep or he would have gotten some form of verbal or physical abuse back.

* * *

**HUGE thank you to: shnuffeluv, emilybrock101, FlewandFlied, Aria of Life, and Rainbow Silenced for reviewing! **

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**Abby**

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	11. A Holmes Christmas - Part 1

**Disclaimer: I do not own Sherlock or anything related to the show. All rights go to the BBC. I own Alex :)**

**Author's Note: Not one of my best chapters but I'm quite distracted at the moment with schoolwork.**

**Thanks to FlewandFlied for this prompt! It will be a two-chapter thing, the next part of which shall be uploaded around Christmas time.**

**Enjoy:**

* * *

_Alex is 5_

* * *

Christmas was an exciting time of year for anyone, but even more so for a young child. And even more so if that child was Alex Holmes. She had been planning what they would do this year since March, and had kept a booklet with every detail in, from which colour the angel was to be on top of the Christmas tree, to what size turkey to cook. The only roadblock she had encountered was that her grandparents were staying in Austria for the holiday period during their tour around Europe. Apparently it was nice there. Alex couldn't imagine it was nice enough to miss her Christmas party for but her mother had told her not to write that in the card they were sending them.

She wasn't too upset by it, however, as it meant that instead of spending Christmas at her grandparent's house in the country, they would spend it at Mycroft's, which Alex knew he was _delighted _about. In truth, she had figured out just how much her uncles abhorred Christmas and made an extra effort to celebrate it to get back at them for making her do boring things like homework and having bedtimes.

"Have you got your pyjamas?" May asked breathlessly as Alex walked down the stairs with a suitcase in her hand.

"Yup."

"Are they the ones you wanted because I really don't want to get there, then have to come back to pick up some different ones."

Alex paused on the stairs and unzipped the first pouch of her case, taking out her booklet.

"It says here I need the teenage-mutant-ninja turtles ones for Christmas Eve Eve so tonight, then the polar bear ones for Christmas Eve, then the Snow White ones for Christmas Day, then dragon ones for Boxing Day," she said, remembering what she had dictated Mycroft to write, rather than actually reading.

"And have you got all of them?"

"Yep," Alex said, storing her booklet away.

"Are you sure?"

"_Yes."_

"Okay then," May said, picking up her own case. "Come and get in the car."

"Have _you _got everything?" Alex asked as she followed her mother out onto the drive.

May shot her an amused look, "Yes, don't worry. I've got everything you wrote down in your booklet. I'm impressed with that by the way. Only one spelling mistake."

"What was it?"

"Rioja is spelt R-I-O-J-A. But you're right, Sherlock and I like it, just I can't drink at the moment."

Alex climbed into the car Mycroft had sent, "That's stupid, why would they spell it with a J?"

"It's Spanish."

"The Spanish are stupid."

May gave her a scolding look, "You can't just call an entire nation stupid, Alex."

"Why? Mycroft says it about this one all the time."

"But..." May struggled for words to say to that that Alex wouldn't go repeating to her older brother. "Never mind."

Alex sat quietly for a few moments in the back of the car, looking out of the window. Then a thought struck her and she leaned forward to the driver.

"Gerardo, are you Spanish?"

The driver gave her an amused look in the mirror, "Yes, I am."

"Ohh," Alex drew out. "I like the Spanish then. You're my favourite driver. Just do me a favour?"

"Hmm?"

"When you go back home can you tell your wine makers to learn to spell."

Thankfully, he laughed.

* * *

When they got to Mycroft's, Alex went straight to her room. It was getting dark as they had set off after tea. It was getting close to her bedtime but Alex had negotiated an extension because of the festive period.

She quickly changed into the pyjamas she had set out for herself, wrapped a dressing gown around herself and ran to the main living room. She skidded to a stop in the doorway, slipping a little on the varnished wooden floor. Her grand entrance caused Mycroft and May to raise their heads from where they were quietly conversing by the window. It looked serious. Her mother had lost the humorous glint she had had in her eye in the car ride over and her face was ashen.

"No," Alex said sternly, pointing at them. "No."

"No, what?" May asked.

"You're not allowed to do that. It's Christmas, you aren't allowed to be sad. Okay?"

May gave her a forced smile and walked over to her. She knelt in front of her and pulled her into a hug.

"I love you," she said.

Alex looked over her mother's shoulders at Mycroft, frowning. He motioned for her to reply.

"I love you, too," she pulled back. "But stop distracting me. You have to be happy, it says in the Christmas journal."

May stood up, "I'll get right on that," she looked over at Mycroft fleetingly. "I'll be a couple of minutes."

He nodded and beckoned Alex over when her mother left. Alex crossed the room to sit in the opposite armchair to the one Mycroft had settled himself in, by the fire. Being so small even for her age, Alex's legs dangled over the edge of the chair and her dressing gown looked to be drowning her.

"So what have you been doing today?" Mycroft asked.

"You know what we've been doing. You watch everything. That's what Mum said."

"I haven't," he said, very obviously lying. "I've been too busy to see what you've been up to. No trouble-making?"

Alex grinned, "Nope. Not one warning today. Mrs Duarte wasn't in because it isn't term-time and Miss Paley does the day care stuff. I think she liked me."

"'Liked'?"

"Pretty sure she doesn't anymore because I stabbed Ethan with a safety pin."

"So you just lied to me?"

"No, I ran away before she could give me a warning," Alex said proudly. "Didn't lie."

Mycroft shook her head at her in amusement.

"So when's Uncle Sherlock coming? Don't say he isn't because I'll cut off his hair and feed him his scarf."

"_Alex," _Mycroft warned. "Yes, he is coming tomorrow afternoon, after much… persuasion."

"Did you threaten to cut off his hair?" Alex asked knowingly.

"No, I threatened to feed him his scarf actually."

Alex laughed, tucking her legs underneath her and keeping a large if slightly sleepy smile.

"You look happy," Mycroft noted.

"It's Christmas," Alex said as if it were obvious. "Of course I'm happy. You'd rather me be sad?"

"No."

"Good, because sadness is banned, like I told Mum. Where is she anyway, she's been a while?" Alex asked.

"She's…" Mycroft trailed off, looking at the open door, light from the living room illuminating a sliver of the dark hallway outside. "She's just not feeling well."

"She should take some of those tablets she has."

"I'm sure she has. She'll be okay soon," he stood up and held out his hand. "It's time you were in bed."

"No, Mum said I could stay up," the sleepy notch in her voice took away the conviction from her voice.

"Well I'm overruling her. It'd be a shame if you'd miss Christmas because you'd fallen into the fire. Come on."

Alex chewed the side of her mouth. She relented and slipped off the chair, taking his hand, "Fine, but I'm staying up in bed."

"Judging from how tired you look right now, I'm guessing you might want to rethink that plan," Mycroft said lightly, taking her out into the hallway and to her bedroom.

She went over to her bed and climbed under the covers, pulling the duvet up to her chin and nuzzling down into the pillow.

"S'warm," she mumbled.

"Sleep well," he said and turned to leave.

"Where are you going?"

"To check on your mother."

Alex closed her eyes, "Tell her… get well soon from… me."

* * *

Mycroft hovered in the doorway, watching his sister leaning over her desk, staring in her mirror. An empty glass stood beside her, along with three packets of different pills. Her hands were tight around the edge of the desk, knuckles white. She was shaking slightly, but not as much as she had been.

"May."

She turned at the sound of his voice, letting go of the desk. She managed to give him a smile with a little more feeling than earlier.

"Sorry. I was just thinking about things. Got into a bit of a dark place."

"Are you okay now?"

She glanced at her pills, "Beginning to feel better. I'll be back to normal soon."

"Did you take them this morning?"

She averted her gaze.

Mycroft groaned, _"May."_

"Don't," she interrupted. "I know. I'd made sure Alex was at daycare and that she'd had breakfast and everything. I checked so many times. I just thought it's Christmas so surely it's the one time of year I can be happy without the need for it to be induced."

"You can't just stop and start depending on your mood, it doesn't work like that."

"I know, Mycroft," May said exasperatedly. "I just… I couldn't… I had to just walk away for a while. I've taken my next dose."

"They don't work that quickly."

"I'm not catatonic," May said. "I just felt panicky. I've calmed myself down. I'm okay."

He gave her a long-suffering sigh, "Please don't experiment with your medication again. At least not now. I don't want to explain to Alex why you aren't there when she wakes up on Christmas morning."

May suddenly perked up, "Is Alex still in the living room?"

Mycroft shook his head, "I put her to bed. She'll be asleep by now."

"Did she notice?"

"Of course she did, she's a Holmes. We've taught her to be perceptive, you can't control when you want her to be and don't want her to be."

May sighed, "What did she say?"

"Just that she wants you to get well soon. I don't think she read too much into it. I'd go and talk to her, just in case," Mycroft said.

"I'll go now," she crossed the room to the door and paused. "Don't tell Sherlock, Mycroft."

He raised an eyebrow.

"Please. I don't want him to know. It was a one-time thing, I promise. There's no need to worry him."

"Because he was the one who found out you weren't taking them when Alex was a baby."

May's eyes lit in outrage, "How did you - !?"

"Of course he told me," Mycroft said impatiently. "He had to. Just be glad he told me and not our parents."

May shuddered.

"Now go on, there might still be a chance she's awake. Don't make her upset," he added, following her out into the hallway.

"Excuse me?"

"When she's upset with you, she comes to either me or Sherlock. Considering our dear brother isn't here, her choices are rather limited. I'd prefer not to deal with a crying child tonight."

"I think you forget she's _my _child."

"So do you, sometimes. Don't let this time be one of those times."

May watched him leave up the stairs to his room and after a few moments, shook her head and proceeded to her daughter's room.

As Mycroft had said, she was in bed but was soundly asleep. May tiptoed over to her bed and sat on the edge. The bed was much too big for the girl, being able to easily fit four more Alexes in it. May pulled back the covers from the other side and climbed in. Almost immediately, Alex subconsciously shuffled over to her and cuddled into her side.

May looked down on her daughter, any lingering feeling of anxiety filtering away. She wrapped an arm around her and pulled her closer.

Sleep found her quickly.

* * *

When Alex awoke, she felt strangely warm. She blinked several times before her eyes adjusted to the light and she realised the strange sensation was that she was being held. Her mother's arm was loosely draped over her shoulders, and her eyes were tight shut.

Alex disentangled herself and made sure to pull the duvet back over her mother when she got out of the bed, slipping into her slippers. She quietly tiptoed out of the room and closed the door with a soft click. She knew Mycroft would be up, so headed for the dining room.

The dining room at Mycroft's house was huge. The table could seat ten, and the walls were lined with bookshelves. On the side opposite to the door, there was a huge bay window looking out onto the garden. The large window let in a lot of light on a good day, but when Alex walked in, she was almost blinded. She put her hand over her eyes and stumbled to the window.

Snow. It covered every surface in the garden, the first appearance it had made in the year. The sun bounced off it, making it shimmer and reflect through the window. Alex couldn't help an excited gasp.

"Fell rather heavily last night, didn't it?"

Alex turned to Mycroft with a beaming smile, "I didn't know it was forecast! I'm going to go get dressed and play."

"You need to have some breakfast first," Mycroft pointed to the new bowl of cereal on the tabletop.

Alex moaned, "Eating's _boring."_

_"You're beginning to sound like Uncle Sherlock, and not in a good way. Eat up."_

Alex narrowed her eyes and sat down at one of the chairs, shooting a longing glance to the snow-clad garden and stabbing her spoon into her bowl of cornflakes.

It had taken a matter of minutes for the pristine, untouched snow to be completely destroyed by the hyper five year-old. She had been wrapped up with layers and layers of warm clothes, yet she could still feel puddles in the bottom of her wellies and ice melting down her back.

Four hours later, snowmen had been built, an igloo attempted, and several snow angels made. After the generic snow activities, Alex began to bore slightly and decided to grab one of the folded up wooden chairs by the door and prop it up under the big maple tree at the bottom of the garden. She then went to the shed and found some rope and a small plank of rotting wood. It took some effort, but soon she had managed to tie the rope to the branch and the plank to the rope, making a small swing. However, as soon as she tried to sit on it, it gave way under her weight and she fell into the snow with a huff.

"Need some help with that?"

Alex scrambled to her feet at the voice, running over to her youngest uncle and taking his hand, a beaming smile on her face.

"You're just who I need, hurry up!" she said, dragging him to the now broken swing. She let go of his hand to point at the rope. "Can you tie that up there?"

Sherlock bent down and picked up the rope, "I believe that's within my capabilities."

Alex wandered off as he dealt with the boring things like making sure the swing was secure enough and that she wasn't going to break her neck on it, and made a mound of snow just a few paces away from the tree. She pulled it from all directions and patted it down until it was almost the size of her. Just as she stood back to marvel at her handiwork, Sherlock called her.

"There you go," he said, motioning to the now much healthier looking swing.

"It doesn't look all to one side now," Alex said with a grin, forgetting about her snow pile. "It's all equal."

"You hadn't tied it properly but you're practically still a baby so that isn't too surprising."

"Hey," Alex gave him a half-hearted glare - she was too busy concentrating on her new toy. "Can I go on it?"

"Well I didn't build it for you to look at," Sherlock said.

"Give me a hand then."

The swing was just a little too high for her to reach without falling back, so Sherlock lifted her just enough so that she could clamber on. She grasped the ropes on each side and held on tightly, giving her uncle a nervous laugh.

"It's a bit wobbly."

"You did use wood older than me," Sherlock reminded her. "But the snow will break your fall if it does snap. I don't recommend using it in the summer unless you want another visit to A&amp;E."

Alex ignored him, pushing herself back and clinging on even tighter when the swing lurched and she swung forwards. It took a few more swings until she had gathered her confidence enough to begin to relax a little, convinced she wasn't going to kill herself.

Sherlock stood leant against the tree trunk, eyes with that glazed over look that told her he was in his mind palace.

"Uncle Sherlock?"

He broke out of his trance, "Hmm?"

"Stand over there, please," she pointed to the spot in front of the swing, just before the mound of snow she had made.

He raised an eyebrow at her but moved nonetheless. He stood there, purple scarf fluttering lightly.

"May I ask why?" he asked.

Alex pulled herself back using the tree trunk, so that she was almost parallel with the branch.

"Catch me."

She let go of the trunk and then let go of the ropes altogether, flying out towards Sherlock. She saw his eyes widen before taking a few hasty steps back to be able to catch her, but he didn't see the snow pile, and the two of them went crashing down into it with an oompf, clumps of white covering them both.

Sherlock coughed, temporarily winded by the child lying on his chest, who was giggling uncontrollably. Alex had tears of laughter down her face and couldn't find the strength to pull herself up. Both were soaked through and muddied by the slush that had accumulated under the snow.

Finally, Sherlock managed to get his breath back and pushed the still hysterically laughing Alex off him, standing up and then pulling her up after him.

"Mu-Mum and M-Mycroft are going to be s-so ma-a-a-ad," Alex managed through her giggles.

"Yes, at me," Sherlock grumbled, dashing down his coat. "You planned that perfectly."

"Thanks."

"This time, I don't mean it as a compliment."

Alex wiped a hand over her face, leaving a big dirty mark of sludge across her cheek. Sherlock curled up his nose.

"You're a disgusting child."

"You're just as dirty as I am," Alex pointed out.

"And whose fault is that?"

"Definitely not mine."

Sherlock glowered at her, "Deny all you like. Either way, this argument ends the same."

"Which is...?"

"Bath," he said simply.

Alex's smile dropped, "No."

"Yes."

"No."

"Yes."

"_No."_

_"Yes."_

"You're meant to be the fun one!" Alex whined. "You're not supposed to make me go in the bath in the middle of the day. It's Christmas Eve!"

"And you won't see Christmas Day if Mycroft sees you running about the house like that."

Alex's shoulders slumped, conceding to his point, "He'd be cooking _me _instead of the turkey."

"He'd impale _you_ on the Christmas Tree instead of the angel."

"He'd hang _me_ up instead of a stocking."

"He'd..." Sherlock trailed off.

Alex gave him a resigned smile, "I win," she sighed. "Let's get this over with, then. But how do we get past Uncle Mycroft and Mum? They're in the kitchen."

"Your mother and I have had a whole childhood of hiding from Mycroft, if I can't get you up to the bathroom without him noticing, I don't deserve to be your uncle."

"So if he finds us, can I call you Just Sherlock for the rest of my life?" Alex asked.

"Deal."

Needless to say, when a freshly clean and new-clothes-sporting Alex emerged from her bedroom, the second eldest Holmes was still Uncle Sherlock. Whether he remained that way when the next two days were over was something he wasn't entirely sure of.

* * *

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**X**


	12. Language!

**Disclaimer: I do not own Sherlock or anything related to the show. All rights go to the BBC. I own Alex :)**

**Author's Note: Hey! Urgh, have a horrible bout of flu. But bed time = writing time! :D**

**WARNING: Strong language!**

* * *

_Alex is six._

* * *

"Are you sure you're up to this?" May asked.

Marie Fernandez, childcare extraordinaire, pressed her lips together and Alex knew she was fighting the impulse to snap. Instead, she spoke in a calm, reassuring voice.

"Mrs Holmes –"

"Miss," May automatically corrected.

Marie gave her a tight smile, "_Miss _Holmes, I assure you that we have dealt with children much more challenging than little Alex here."

"I very much doubt that," Sherlock deadpanned, just as Alex gave Marie a big grin.

"And you are…"

"Sherlock Holmes. I'd shake your hand but you seem to be covered in child mucus."

"So you're Alex's father?"

"Uncle."

"So he's your…"

"He's my brother," May said. "Look, Alex is a handful, I completely understand if you're not up to it. In fact this is a bad idea, I'll get Mrs McFall to watch her."

"I thought Mrs McFall was sick," Alex said, voice flat with boredom.

"She's too old," Sherlock said to his sister. "Alex would be looking after _her._"

"Please don't worry yourselves,," Marie interrupted. "I am fully capable of taking care of her."

"I'd be dubious if it were just Alex you were taking care of, but Alex as well as an entire crèche is near impossible," Sherlock said.

May nervously checked her watch, "My appointment is in five minutes."

Sherlock looked conflicted, then stared at Alex intently. She stared back solemnly as her mother knelt in front of her.

"If we leave now, you won't get into trouble, will you?"

She shook her head.

"You won't break anything?"

"No."

"You won't teach the other children things they don't understand?"

"I'm helping them," she said innocently.

"They don't need to know how to embalm a cadaver."

Alex rolled her eyes moodily, "Fine."

"And you won't go wandering off?"

Alex made a face, "Well…"

"_Alex._ We don't want a repeat of last time."

"I'm joking, I'm joking. I won't wander anywhere."

May held her stare for a few long seconds, narrowing her eyes slightly.

"_I promise," _Alex drew out.

May straightened up and turned to Mrs Fernandez, "We'll be back soon."

"Take as long as you need," the daycare owner said with an insincere smile. "We'll be fine, won't we, Alex?"

Alex gave her mother and Sherlock an exaggerated toothy smile.

"We'll be _completely _fine."

Sherlock glowered at her, "I swear if you do anything…"

"I'll be good," she assured him, but with that mischievous glint in her eye.

"Sherlock, we need to go now if we're going to make it. The doctor won't wait," May said. "We'll see you soon."

As they left, Sherlock shot her a warning look over his shoulder, to which Alex replied with a thumbs up. He turned back to her but May tugged his coat and he had no option but to leave.

Mrs Fernandez looked down at her, "Well that took a long time, didn't it?"

Alex gave her a long-suffering sigh, "Tell me about it. They're convinced I can't make it through the day without doing something I shouldn't."

"I think you can," Mrs Fernandez said. "You seem like a very clever little girl."

Alex gave her an approving look and took the woman's hand, "I can see we're going to get along."

* * *

"And then they go through your nose–"

"Your nose?!"

Alex rolled her eyes, "Yes, that's what I said. So they sew through your nose and the top of your mouth with this big thread and needle–"

"Alex?" Mrs Fernandez said, appearing from around the corner. "What are you talking about?"

"Nothing," Alex replied, just at the exact moment Elisha Nodding piped up, _"Embalming!"_

Alex glared at her, "Oh, well done."

"What have I done that's good?"

"I'm being sarcastic, you moron."

"Alex," Mrs Fernandez snapped. "Come with me."

Alex got to her feet with a heavy sigh, still glowering at Elisha, who looked back in confusion. She followed Mrs Fernandez to the back room, where every child was told not to go. It had a big laminated sign on the front with a child scaulding themselves on a kettle.

"Sit," the woman said, pointing to a wooden chair pulled up to a table.

Alex did.

"You like coffee?"

Alex blinked, "Um, no. I like tea, though."

"Course you do," the woman chuntered. "You're British. Might have been bred here but I ain't lost my Spanish roots. Can't stand the stuff."

A few moments later, an extremely perplexed Alex was handed a mug of tea - with some cold water in to take the edge of the heat off - and Mrs Fernandez sat down opposite her. She opened up her bag and took out a cigarette, lighting it and beginning to smoke.

"Alex," she began, paused, then continued. "You know how long I've been doing this job?"

"Fifty years?"

"Not far off, kid," she muttered. "Point is, I know you ain't about what them other kids are about. I also know that the minute their busy-body parents look up from their phones long enough to pick their kids up, they'll come running and tell them how this brilliant new girl told them how embalm a body, and guess who'd be the one getting their ass beaten?"

"You," Alex admitted. "Sorry. They asked, though."

"Yeah well I'm keeping you in here until you get picked up. Might be getting the sack soon but I'd rather wait till after I've paid next month's rent."

"Sorry."

"How you know all that stuff anyway? You educated well?"

"Yes, my uncles teach me a lot. The eldest one runs the country."

Mrs Fernandez stared at her, "You're completely serious, aren't you?"

"Yup."

The woman sighed and lowered her cigarette for a moment.

"You know what, sod it," she said, and put it back in her mouth. "Life's gone to hell anyway. What's one more official on my back."

Alex leant forward and took a sip of her tea, "What do you mean, Mrs Fernandez?"

"Call me Marie," she said. "I've been getting complaints."

"Like what?"

"Kids just aren't what they used to be before. Disrespectful, spoiled little brats. Had this one boy, used to terrorise the younger kids. Beat them up. Take their lunch money. Break their toys. You name it. Right thug Ronnie Clack was."

"More like Ronnie _Kray," _Alex said, shaking her head. She had had to research him once for her weekend homework with Sherlock.

Marie snorted in agreement, "Anyway I just got so wound up I shouted at him, and he went back to his little whore mother saying I was swearing at him, dropping f-bombs, the whole shebang."

"And were you?"

"Too fucking right I was!" she exclaimed, taking another drag of her cigarette.

Alex sipped her tea, "What's an f-bomb?"

"I just said one. Fucking"

"Oh," Alex thought back. "I didn't realise that was a bad word. One of my friends said it to the cab driver the other day."

"Go say it to your fancy-arse uncles. Just make sure you're far away from here and give me time to get my things together before I'm deported."

"I will," Alex said, not really understanding what the woman was going on about. "So what are you going to do when you leave?"

"Probably become a secondary school teacher or something," she said with a smirk.

"That's nice."

Marie looked at her blankly, "I'm joking."

Alex furrowed her brow, "Oh, I don't really get it. Can you explain?"

"Well once a kid hits 'bout eleven, something changes in their heads, right, and they just go bat-shit. Go round thinking they're harder than nails, bragging about how they've fucked half the school population, smoking weed and pretending it don't make them sick, reading pornos under the desk in English Lit. Something inside them just snaps and turns them into lunatics."

"God," Alex whispered, genuinely shocked. "They sound like they've had psychotic breaks."

"If that's what going bat-shit's called these days," Marie mumbled.

"I think so. Bat-shit has a nicer ring though. I might bring that up with my mum's therapist."

"You do that," Marie said. "So if I can't deal with Ronnie Clack, I ain't setting foot in a school. My comfort zone is at naptime for the under 7s. That's why I have my cigarette break just after they wake up. Been doing it for thirty-nine years."

"Are you happy doing it though?" Alex asked sympathetically, sipping some more tea.

Marie scoffed, "Fuck no. Just couldn't bring myself to leave."

"I'd hate to be stuck in a job I didn't like."

"What would you like to do?"

"I wanna be a detective."

Marie shook her head, dashing her cigarette butt into the Winnie the Pooh pencil pot she was using as an ashtray, "You wanna do what I should have done. Escorts. That's where the money is. If I had my time again, I'd take it professional."

"Escort?"

"Hooker, whatever you want to call it," Marie said with a casual wave.

"Is that like fishing?" Alex asked innocently.

Marie snorted, "Yeah, kid. Just like fishing."

"I've never been fishing before. I think I'd get too impatient though and through the rod off the pier."

Marie laughed, "I like you, kid. Reckon you'll be back here?"

"No, I don't think so. This was just a one-off because my older uncle is busy and the doctor said my mum should bring someone with her so my other uncle went. We've haven't got anyone else now. Mum doesn't like it when I go to the morgue or sit in Lestrade's office."

"Don't got a clue who that is but he sounds delightful," Marie said, getting to her feet with a grunt and dropping her cigarette into the ash-filled pencil holder. She took Alex's mug and chucked it haphazardly into the sink. "Your mum will be here in any minute."

"I won't tell her about our conversation," Alex said, slipping off the chair. "It's private."

"They've raised you well, I'll give 'em that. You speak like an adult."

"Thanks. Can I have one of those biscuits?"

She threw her one. Alex tried to catch it but it fell to the floor and broke in half.

"Your motor skills leave a lot to be desired," Marie chortled, then turned her head to the door. "Ooh, I think I do hear someone coming in."

Alex sighed and took her coat off the peg, shrugging it on her shoulders.

"I'd better go. Take care," she said with a smile. "Sorry about the biscuit. I'll clean it if you want."

"Nah, you're alright, kid. Most of this lot can't clean the shit off their own arse. You go on home."

Alex wrinkled her nose, "You're quite disgusting, aren't you?"

"You have to be in this profession. Softy-softy touch is a load of bollocks. Go on, before they get a search warrant."

Alex gave her a final, if not somewhat hesitant smile now and opened the door of the staff room. In the main area, Sherlock and May were stood trying to scan through the crowds of children, looking for her.

"I'm here," she announced, walking self-importantly from the staff room.

"Why were you in there? What have you done now?" May demanded, then looked up at Mrs Fernandez who had surfaced after Alex. "What's she done now?"

"Nothing at all," the woman said, putting a hand on Alex's shoulder.

Alex narrowed her eyes at the woman, whose demeanour had completely changed. Her voice was higher and the vowels exaggerated to sound more well-spoken, and there was a bright smile on her face. She gave Alex a discreet wink.

"See," Alex said, walking over to take her uncle's hand. "Bye, Mrs Fernandez!"

"Bye, dear!" she called and picked up a five year-old boy, balancing him on her hip and smiling at him. The nametag said Ronnie Clack.

* * *

"So I heard you actually liked the woman looking after you today."

Alex grunted at the sound of Mycroft's voice, barely looking up from her homework, "Yeah."

May, who was sat between her brothers going over some paperwork, piped up, "No trouble at all, she said."

"I still don't believe that," Sherlock said, without looking up from his book.

"Believe what you like," Alex said and turned the page of her homework booklet. "Ohh, I'm sick of doing this."

"What is it?" Mycroft asked.

"This homework question: what do you want to do when you're older? I'm so sick of being asked it!"

"Alex, don't complain, just do it," Mycroft said in a semi-scolding tone.

"But it's always the same answer," Alex groaned and stood up from her chair at the desk by the window and dropped on the sofa between Mycroft and May.

"Alex," May moaned, picking up the sheets she had sat on. "These are important!"

"Sorry," she shuffled closer to her uncle. "Someone's in a bad mood."

"Hospitals wear me out, that's all," May said.

"What did the doctor say?"

"He's just given me some more tablets."

"But are you better?"

"No. I will be, though. These tablets will help once they have time to work. For now I'll just be a little down. Do you understand?"

Alex nodded and smiled, "Well look on the Brightside, at least you're not bat-shit crazy."

May and Mycroft looked down at her incredulously and beside his sister, Sherlock stifled a laugh.

"Wh-what did you just say?" May asked, eyes wide.

"At least you're not bat-shit crazy," Alex repeated. "Just trying to be positive."

"You can't say that, Alex," Mycroft said.

"Why not?"

"Because it's a bad word," May replied. "Very bad."

"It isn't," Alex defended. "I know bad words and that isn't one of them. Lesbian is a bad word."

"Lesbian isn't a bad word, Alex," May said, fighting a smile now.

"Then why did I get told off when I said my teacher was one?" Alex asked, pouting.

"Which one?" Sherlock asked, cutting off his sister's response.

"Miss Fishburne."

"What makes you… ah, the shoes," Sherlock nodded approvingly. "Well done."

"No, Sherlock! Alex, you can't call people out on their sexuality. That's private."

"_That's _a bad word."

"What?"

"Sex. That's when–"

"_That's _when you shut your mouth," Sherlock interrupted swiftly.

Alex pouted again and leant back into the sofa, folding her arms across her chest, "You all tell me off for everything. I could say worse stuff."

"You don't know real bad words," Mycroft said. "You're too young. It's around ten you should be exposed to that language."

"I know loads of words!" Alex bridled. "I know bat-shit now, I know whore, fucking, bollocks, and arse! I'm sure there are more but... what?"

A deadly silence fell over the room, in which the only sound was the abrupt fall and landing of Sherlock's now completely forgotten book. It was a few seconds later that he burst out laughing. Startled back to reality by her brother, May turned to him and punched him as hard as she could on the arm.

"I Told. You. Not. To. Teach. Her. Words. Like. That," she exclaimed, punctuating every word with a punch.

Sherlock brought up his hands to defend himself, still laughing, "It wasn't me! I swear!"

Mycroft looked down at his frowning niece, "Why exactly did you like the woman at the crèche so much for?"

Alex shrugged, "She talked about how much she'd messed up her life while and we had tea. Well I had tea while she smoked. She was _really _nice."

By this point, May had stopped slapping Sherlock and turned to her other brother desperately. Mycroft cleared his throat.

"Are you going to use those words again?"

"Nope. Not if you don't want me to."

"Good. We'll forget about this then. And you can forget about Mrs…"

"Fernandez," Sherlock supplied, voice still trembling with restrained laughter.

"You can forget about Mrs Fernandez. You won't be seeing her again."

"Shame," Alex said and hopped off the sofa, returning to her desk. "I'm going to finish my homework now."

"Good," Mycroft said, exchanging a bemused shake of the head with his sister. "Let us know if you need help."

"Kay…" she hummed, twiddling her pen in her hand. "I think I'm going to give a different answer."

"You don't want to be a detective anymore?"

"No… do you spell escort with a 'u'?"

A lot happened in the moments directly after she asked that perfectly innocent question. She didn't understand why Sherlock was laughing so much, or why her mother kept hitting him. And she definitely didn't understand why Mycroft looked like he had just binned a winning lottery ticket.

"So it doesn't have a 'u'?"

"It most certainly does not."

* * *

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	13. The Case of the Bag Full of Chillies

**Disclaimer: I do not own Sherlock or anything related to the show. All rights go to the BBC. I own Alex :)**

**Author's Note: Sorry for the absence. As you know if you read Exception, I have been sick. This chapter is the usual fluffy, nice chapter but the next two chapters won't be. Again, if you've read Exception, you'll know what's coming. Guess? When Alex is six? With that and Reichenbach, I'm not sure I'll cope!**

**Enjoy:**

* * *

_Alex aged 9_

* * *

"Just punch him," Alex said exasperatedly.

"I can't," Logan muttered from his position at the foot of the tree.

Alex looked down at him from the branch that she was laid across, the book in her lap progressing very slowly as Logan kept talking to her, "Why not?"

"Mum says I'm not allowed."

"Come on, you're ten!"

"I know!" he huffed and folded his arms. "I should be allowed to punch whoever I want. Especially a bully like Jamie."

Alex could see him from where she was, at the other corner of the playground surrounded by his gang. They really were pathetic.

"What did he do this time, then?" she asked.

Logan sighed, "Kept wanting me to eat those extra, _extra _hot chillies his brother got off the internet. When I said no, he kept going on at me saying I was a chicken. Then I told him to leave me alone and he pushed me over. Look!"

Alex had to lean down from the branch to see as Logan rolled up his school trousers to reveal a lightly bleeding knee.

"You might want to brush the gravel out of it," she advised.

"It hurts too much," he crossed his arms again and left his knee bare.

Alex bit her lip, "I could maybe do something."

He looked up at her, "Like what?"

Alex shrugged.

"ALEX HOLMES, GET DOWN FROM THAT TREE!" Mrs Duarte's high-pitched voice hollered across the field.

Alex rolled her eyes and slid off, dropping the six feet to the grass below. She dusted herself off and sat next to Logan with a scowl on her face.

"I'm going to kill her one of these days."

"How?"

"Number 34?" she asked, referencing to the Murder Book the pair had devised.

Logan nodded, "Would probably work. She could do with losing some weight, too… So what did you have in mind to do?"

"I don't know, something. He's been bullying you for ages now."

"Won't you get into trouble? Mrs Duarte will ring one of your uncles."

"Ah, but Mycroft is in a meeting all day. She'll have to ring Sherlock," she grinned at him. "We know what he's like."

"Good thing your mum isn't here, she would always flip too."

Alex glanced away, her grin faltering.

"Oh, sorry, Alex," Logan apologised, putting an arm around her. "I didn't mean for it to sound like that."

She shrugged his arm off her, "Get off, you softie. So what do you want me to do?"

She wasn't used to being hugged and apologised to when she was with her friends. It was just another reminder of how different things were. She wanted to try and keep things as close to how they used to be as possible. Things were of course a little different now that Raz and Lee were now in the secondary section of the school.

"Don't do anything," at her aghast look, he elaborated. "It'll probably just make it worse. Anyway, I don't want you to get into trouble."

"I won't get into trouble–"

The sound of the bell for next lesson cut off her protestations.

She groaned, "Oh, PE."

"Geography," he groaned back.

"I'd swap with you any day," she said, hauling him to his feet. "See you at lunch."

"If I don't get detention again," he said as they walked to the building. When they reached the point where they had to go their separate ways, Logan asked a little hesitantly, "Are you still my friend?"

"Course I am. Now hurry up and get to class; if I have to spend one more lunchtime alone because you're in detention, I _won't_ be your friend."

"I promise I'll be good if you don't bunk off PE and get landed in Isolation."

"Deal."

* * *

In fact, it wasn't detention where Alex found Logan that lunchtime, but sat in one of the blue stalls of the boys' bathroom, hunched over the toilet. After another particularly violent bout of retching, Alex handed him the glass of water. She refilled it when he was sick again, and the whole process started again.

"Why, Logan? What was going through your mind?" she asked, arms folded and leaning against the side of the stall.

He finished drinking but seemed to have managed to keep the water down this time.

"He kept going on at me," wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. "I just thought that it would all stop if I…"

"If you took one of his stupid flaming hot chillies?"

Logan went to reply but suddenly turned a shade paler and dived for the toilet bowl again, vomiting up what he had just drank.

"Oh, Logan."

She rubbed his back, giving him a sympathetic grimace.

"I feel like I'm going to die," he moaned.

"Your mum will be here soon," she said in a reassuring tone. "Plus Lee and Raz will probably beat this Jamie up."

"They can't, he's a year younger than them. They'll get into so much trouble."

"Well… I'm a year younger than _him_," Alex reasoned. "Plus, I bet Raz has beaten up people half his age before."

"Alex…" whatever he was going to say was lost in the throes of more heaving.

A boy from Alex's class took this time to walk in and stop dead in horror, "You're a girl! You can't be in here!"

"Oh, shut up. Pee or leave," Alex snapped.

"I can't go with you there!"

"Then you know the other option."

He snarled at her and turned on his heel. Alex knew he was on his way to blab to the headmistress. She turned back to Logan impatiently.

"Look, I'm going to have to go."

Logan whined, taking another sip of water.

"Don't worry," Alex continued. "Jamie's going to wish his brother had kept a better eye on those chillies in the first place."

"Please don't–" but then came a fresh wave of sickness and Alex took this time to leave.

On her way to the playground, Mrs Duarte intercepted Alex, followed by a smug-looking Aaron. She was forced to stand through a lecture about how she shouldn't go in the boys' toilets and yet another one about talking to people nicely. Alex, for once, didn't talk back, just drowned her out and nodded when she stopped for breath.

"Very sorry, Miss," she said, ducking out of the door and out into the yard.

Jamie was stood in his usual spot with his cronies at the far corner by the fence. She could see the bulge of the bag of chillies in his left sock. He didn't notice her as she stalked over to him, or even when she stood directly behind him. One of his friends did, though, and opened their mouth to say something when Alex decided to make her presence felt by her own means.

By punching him in the mouth.

* * *

Mrs Duarte was rushed off her feet as a plethora of concerned parents kept ringing up after the school's appalling Ofsted report. She could have strangled Alex Holmes that day. If Mrs Duarte had it her way, she would have the girl answer every single one of these calls herself. That would make her think twice.

She had to hang up the last call halfway through when someone knocked on the office door.

"Yes?" she asked wearily.

The Year 2 teacher informed her that someone needed medical attention after an incident in the playground. Mrs Duarte sighed, thanked her, and walked out to the row of chairs outside her door.

Next to Logan Baxter, clutching an empty bowl and looking very green, was an equally green Jamie Alexander, one hand on his stomach and the other trying to stop the blood dripping from his nose. The two were glaring at each other.

"And what happened here?" Mrs Duarte asked, hands on her hips.

Before either of them could speak, the Year 2 teacher returned with another child in tow. A smirking Alex Holmes with an icepack on her knuckles.

When Jamie opened his mouth, Mrs Duarte cut him off.

"Forget that question," she said, looking at Alex. "I know _exactly _what happened."

"Miss–" Jamie tried.

"Let me guess, Miss Holmes here decided she would be–"

"No, miss, I–" Jamie cut her off.

"Don't interrupt me, Jamie."

"But I–"

"I said don't inter–"

Jamie promptly vomited all over the carpet.

Alex burst out laughing.

* * *

Alex was playing with the little lavender sack they had given Logan for his nausea, sat outside the office next to him. Jamie had long since gone home.

"How many chillies did you actually make him eat?" Logan asked.

"Lost count. However many was in the bag."

Logan shook his head, apparently feeling better for vengeance, "That is _so _cool. Serves him right."

"I think he'll definitely think twice about bothering either of us again."

"When are your uncles coming to pick you up?"

"I told you, only Sherlock is available today. She'll only be able to get through to him. And knowing Sherlock, he'll turn up with a congratulations card and want me to tell him all about it. He should be here any minute."

"My mum is going to go crazy when she finally gets here. The amount of times we've had to be picked up," Logan laughed.

"More than thirty, you think?"

"Definitely more than thirty."

"You fancy coming over mine later? If you're not grounded."

"Logan, how many times do I have to tell you? Sherlock is coming so I won't get in trouble. If Mycroft was coming, he'd probably string me up by my laces from the top of Big Ben."

"I'm considering it, dear niece."

Alex froze at the voice, eyes wide as she stared at Logan. He was looking over her shoulder, he too, wide-eyed. Alex slowly turned around, hoping against hope that it was just Sherlock doing an amazing impression, but there her older uncle stood, in all his stern, umbrella wielding glory.

"Uncle Mycroft…" Alex faltered, her heart hammering wildly.

"Come with me," he said in that voice that he specially used when Alex was in trouble.

She swallowed, not daring to say goodbye to Logan as she stood up and followed her uncle out of the school and into the car parked by the side of the road. Though they sat opposite each other, the pair didn't speak, he just continued to glare at her in that terrifyingly calm yet somehow furious way of his, while Alex tried not to notice. She did note that they were heading to Sherlock's flat.

"Why are we going to Sherlock's?" she asked quietly.

"Because you're not staying with me tonight. The meeting's been rescheduled."

Alex nodded, then fell silent again until they reached home. She had hoped Mycroft would have just dropped her off, but instead he followed her inside and up to the flat. This one was up three flights of stairs, which only left Alex with more time to panic internally.

When they entered, Sherlock was sat at the kitchen table with his microscope, investigating something.

"Who have you assaulted?" he asked without looking up from his work.

"Jamie Alexander."

"The one who bullies Logan?"

"Yes."

Everything was quiet for a moment before Sherlock held up his hand, "High five."

Alex grinned and went to high-five him when Mycroft pulled her back.

"No, Sherlock, she doesn't get a 'high-five' for that. She needs to understand that she can't keep going around hitting people. Don't you, Alex?" he looked at her sternly, and she shuffled over to Sherlock, who had finally looked up from his experiment.

He stood up and motioned for her to sit in his seat. She did, glad to be away from her older uncle.

"Hands on the table," he said as he ran a flannel under the cold tap and laid them across her just-bruising knuckles. "What else did you do to him?"

"Made him eat the chillies he made Logan eat."

"You do know the Baxter boy is a year older than you, Alex," Mycroft said in exasperation. "Next time, tell him he can fight his own battles."

"He didn't ask me to do it!"

"Oh, so you did it of your own volition, completely aware of what you were doing and the consequences that would follow?"

Alex bowed her head, muttering quietly, "You tricked me into saying that."

"Alex, this has happened one too many times. Why in the last few years have you suddenly been like this?"

"Mycroft, you know why," Sherlock snapped. "Don't make her say it."

"Keep on saying nothing and one day she'll be sent home with something a lot worse than some bruised knuckles."

"She can handle herself!"

"Sherlock, she's _nine!"_

"I _can _look after myself," Alex insisted. "I did for a year, didn't I? And I was two years younger than I am now."

Mycroft's glare tripled in intensity, "That was by your own choice. That year was down to you, no one else."

Alex stood up angrily, the wet cloth falling forgotten on the kitchen tiles, "Are you saying that was my fault? My mum had just _died in front of me! _I was hardly going to be normal!"

"Alex, calm down," Sherlock said.

"No! You don't know what it was like! I thought I had no one! You were in a hospital somewhere he sent you, where I wasn't allowed to visit, my best friends weren't allowed to see me, Uncle Mycroft was too busy to even notice me, and my mum was dead! So sorry for being _quiet _and not wanting any attention you _did _give me. It would have helped if maybe I knew either of you gave a damn!"

As soon as the words left her mouth, Alex wished she could have taken them back. She had promised herself she wouldn't talk about the year after her mother died, that she would just let everyone move on, including herself. That promise seemed to have just crashed and burned.

"I'm sorry," she said into the silence of the flat. "I'm really sorry, I shouldn't have said that."

"That's okay," Sherlock said calmly. "You're angry, you obviously aren't thinking about what you're saying."

Alex could tell from his voice that her words had hurt him and she desperately wanted to go back and retract the whole thing.

"You aren't at school tomorrow," Mycroft said, his voice strange too. "You've been excluded until Thursday. Try to spend the next three days productively."

He turned and left.

Alex felt tears of guilt fill her eyes and she turned to Sherlock with a desperate sniffle, "I didn't mean to upset him."

"You are one of the only people I have ever known to be able to upset Mycroft. You're allowed to sometimes. It's probably good for his mental health."

"No, no, I-I didn't… what do I do?"

Sherlock went back to his experiment, pressing his face against his microscope. Alex bit her lip, an idea bursting in her head. It was stupid, worse than what she had been excluded from school for. She reckoned both her uncles would be angry at her if she did…

Without thinking, Alex turned on her heel and ran, slamming the door behind her. She sprinted as fast as she could down the stairs, groaning when she heard the engine of one of Mycroft's cars start up. By the time she was out of the main door, the car was moving down the road. Her only thought was to keep moving, sprinting alongside the car and managing somehow to stand in front of it. It screeched to a halt, the back door opening.

"Alex, what the bloody hell are you doing!?" Mycroft's face and tone were murderous as he grabbed her hand and pulled her onto the path. "You don't just run out in front of cars!"

She pulled him into the main door, knowing he didn't like showing any signs of affection in front of his colleagues, and wrapped her arms around his neck, holding on tightly.

"Alex, get off!" he tried to pull her away but she held strong. "I'm angry with you, stop hugging me!"

"I'll hug you till you stop being angry," she mumbled against his suit. "I know you don't like hugs…"

He sighed, still not returning the embrace, "Alex, it's not–"

"I'm sorry for what I said. I want you to forgive me, okay? C-cause I know I was horrible to you and Sherlock that year and I just want us to forget about it but I keep bringing it up and so I'm sorry for what I said and sorry for what I did back then and I'm sorry for jumping in front of the car and I'm sorry for punching Jamie and I did it because I wanted to prove that I'm just the same as I was and because I don't like bullies but I've been a bully and I'm really, _really, really, really, really, really–_"

"Alex!" Mycroft cut her off, making her wince at how loud his voice was next to her ear. "I forgive you."

"Promise?"

She knew he liked making promises even less than he liked hugs, so when he finally closed his arms around her, she knew she was forgiven, even if it was obvious he was extremely uncomfortable. She smiled into his shoulder.

"Mycroft, you seem to have a child attached to you," Sherlock's voice noted from the stairs behind them.

"Yes, think you can lend a hand?"

Alex repressed a laugh, still clinging onto her uncle.

"Well," Sherlock said. "Though I don't condone punching people at random or jumping in front of cars, I couldn't help but noticed a text from Logan on your phone. I might have accidently picked it up and replied–"

Alex let go of Mycroft, turning on Sherlock accusingly, "Why would you do that!?"

" – and told him to come round as soon as he stops being sick. I really don't want to have to clean _that _up. I also told him to bring his sister's horror films that you wanted to watch so I would go and get enough chocolate to last you until morning. Apparently children your age like that."

Alex's jaw dropped.

"Sherlock," Mycroft said with a long-suffering sigh. "It's a school night, she can't have sleepovers on a school night."

Sherlock shrugged, "They're both suspended."

"That's not something to be celebrating."

"I don't have any money for the corner shop," Alex pointed out.

Sherlock turned and went to walk back up the stairs to his flat, "Just pickpocket the first person you see."

"No!" Mycroft groaned and reached into his pocket, retrieving a note and giving it to Alex. "Please _don't _pickpocket the public. At least not until you get better at it. I really don't want to have to pick you up from the police station next time."

Alex thanked him for the money and stashed it in her coat pocket. They walked out onto the path outside the block of flats, where Mycroft got in his car and Alex kept on walking. She couldn't help the smile on her face.

When the car was safely round the corner, Alex took out the phone she had swiped from Mycroft's pocket. But, as she held it closer, she saw that it wasn't her uncle's phone at all, but a cheap top-up mobile.

She almost dropped it when it vibrated in her hand and let out a noise somewhere between annoyance and amusement when she read the text.

**Give it a few more years, dear niece – MH**

Her fingers fumbled over the soft, hard-to-type-one keypad.

**This is war now. Watch your back – AH**

Alex stuffed the phone in her pocket with a laugh.

* * *

**HUGE thank you to: shnuffeluv, emilybrock101, JJ, FlewandFlied, and abubblytale for reviewing!**

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**Thanks for reading,**

**Please review,**

**Abby  
X**


	14. Civil War

**Disclaimer: I do not own Sherlock or anything related to the show. All rights go to the BBC. I own Alex :)**

**Author's Note: Just a funny, happy little chapter to distract everyone from what's going on in Exception right now.**

**Enjoy:**

* * *

_Alex is eight._

* * *

Alex was used to sitting in the chair opposite Mycroft's desk. It was the chair she had to sit in every time she got into trouble, which was more than any member of the Holmes family cared to admit – except Sherlock, who practically bragged about it. Alex was also used to Sherlock sat next to her, as he was usually to blame for her being able to misbehave in the first place. What she _wasn't _used to, was Logan sat in a third chair beside them. His mother was out of the city with his sisters, and he was being 'taken care of' by Mycroft and Sherlock, something which Alex found highly amusing.

Mycroft sighed, looking up from the letter that was sent home from the school, detailing yet another suspension. Talking to Logan was also unfamiliar territory for him, but the boy had played just a big a part in their plot as his niece had.

"Okay, so… just…" he sighed again. "Just explain."

Alex looked at Logan, who stared blankly back. She motioned for him to speak. He stayed quiet. With a glare, she turned to Sherlock, who avoided her eye. She huffed and crossed her arms over her chest.

"For God's sake, when was I elected spokesperson? Did you two have a ballot I wasn't aware of?"

"Get on with it, the longer you stall, the longer you'll be in here."

"Do it, Alex, I have a murder to be at in ten minutes."

"You'll be visiting one in the next ten seconds if no one starts talking," Mycroft muttered. "You know I had to cancel a meeting with several members of the UN to do this?"

"Fine," Alex sat up and took a breath. "It wasn't my fault."

Logan scoffed.

"Ooh, got something to say now?" she asked.

He mumbled something and went back to sulking.

Mycroft rolled his eyes and consulted the letter again, "First thing's first, who's Miss Franklin?"

"Substitute teacher."

"For the teacher you drowned?"

"I did _not _drown her! She's fine!" Alex said indignantly. "But… yes, she's her temporary replacement."

This is when Logan piped up, "She's temporary because everyone's scared to teach Alex."

Alex glowered at him, "I liked you better when you weren't speaking. Just leave all the talking to me."

Mycroft, however, looked extremely interested and leaned forward, "Go on, Mr Baxter."

Logan preened at the attention, "Well we were in the staff room stealing biscuits–"

Alex cleared her throat pointedly.

Logan ploughed on, regardless, "And we saw that the headteacher was in with the other teachers and everyone was saying how no one wanted to teach Alex, especially after what happened with Mr Fitz and the fire incident–"

"Logan, stop talking now!" Alex interrupted, wide eyed.

"Why?"

"Because they didn't know about that one!" she glanced at her uncles. "Or they _didn't. _Thanks, mate."

_"Fire _incident?" Mycroft asked, as if we was dreading the answer.

Sherlock turned to her suddenly, "Please don't say you did what you were asking to do last month."

Alex winced and he groaned, "_Alex_."

"It wasn't my fault! The electricity had gone off and I was just trying to help!"

"That's exactly why I didn't tell you how to make them, in case you went off and did something like that!"

"I Googled it."

In unison, Sherlock and Mycroft moaned. Alex didn't have a very good history with Google.

"I'm going to ban it," Mycroft muttered.

"You can't do that."

"I can," Mycroft countered. "I'll just introduce them to you. Say it's a matter of homeland security."

Alex threw her hands up in exasperation, "It was only a candle!"

* * *

**Three Weeks Previously**

When the lights went out, a wave of applause rippled through the classrooms. The children, of course, not the teachers, they were shaking heads at the work they had just lost.

Mr Fitz was no different and swore softly under his breath as his computer went blank, along with the document he hadn't yet saved. He no doubt thought no one had heard, but Alex, having being moved right next to his desk – on the _naughty _desk – stifled a snigger.

"Shouldn't say words like that, Mr Fitz. You'll get your mouth washed out with soap. I don't think they've changed the soap here since my grandparents were born. There's probably all sorts of brain-eating amoebas in it."

"Brain-eating _what?!" _Katie exclaimed, turning to Alex in horror.

"Nothing!" Mr Fitz answered quickly. "Alex, shut up."

"Shut up isn't very nice," Alex said. "That's what Mrs Duarte tells me. You have to find a nicer way to say it, like please be quiet. That gets you a gold star on the Chart of Empty Promises."

"Chart of - ?" Mr Fitz shook his head and stood up to shush the class, who were as hyper from the lack of electricity as they were from the jumbo packet of Tangfastics one of the boys had brought in. "Listen everyone, I'm sure it'll come back on soon. We'll do some reading in the meantime."

There was uproar at this, the general consensus being that it was just too exciting to sit down and read. Someone had draped their jumper over their friend and written RIP across the top in Sharpie.

"It's a power cut, not an atomic bomb," Alex said.

"Is that like Atomic Kitten? My mummy has that CD," Katie piped up again.

"No, this is a bomb that could kill you in a billionth of a second."

"Oh."

"Anyway," Mr Fitz said, swooping in once again. "There are no atomic bombs here," he raised his voice to the rest of the class. "But there are plenty of books!"

"Books are boring!"

"So stupid!"

"Let's burn them to make fire so we have some light!"

"Yeah!"

"NO!" Mr Fitz yelled. "Definitely not, no fire, no burning. Okay? Anyone even says the word again and I'm taking everyone's break off them, understand?"

A reluctant acquiescence murmured through the class as everyone turned their minds to other ways they could use the situation. However, Alex had a thought brewing. Fire… that had been a good idea. That was how cavemen did it. And the lack of heating would start to kick in soon…

While Mr Fitz was trying to separate two boys who kept running around with their eyes closed and had somehow managed to give each other nosebleeds, Alex slipped out from her naughty table and slinked over to Toby.

Toby was king of the Babybel, and had at least five in his lunchbox every day.

"Hey, Toby," Alex whispered. "Can I have your Babybel wrappers?"

He frowned suspiciously, "Why?"

"Just… please."

"No."

"If you give me them, I won't tell Mrs Duarte that it was you who stole her staple gun and stapled Becky's doll to the wall."

Toby paled, "I… uh… oh, please don't tell. I'll give you all my wrappers, here."

Alex only took the waxy shells and gave him a reassuring smile, "I won't tell, she deserved it. I would have done something if you hadn't."

"Are you doing something bad?" he asked.

Alex hesitated, cradling her contraband, "Yes."

"Can I help?"

Alex thought about it. Well, Logan was in the other class, it wasn't like he could help. She always did better with an assistant.

"Sure."

Toby's eyes lit up, "Really? Cool!"

"Keep your voice down," Alex said, leading him over to her desk and motioning for him to join her underneath.

Alex put all of the Babybel wax in a pile and turned to Mr Fitz's bag, rifling through until she pulled out a lighter.

"Mr Fitz said he didn't smoke!"

"Look at him, can you blame him?" Alex said and stored the lighter in her pocket. "Right, give me your hand."

He did, bemusedly.

"Yours are warmer, I need you to squeeze this wax until it can be moulded. My hands are too cold; it's a genetic thing. My uncle touches you and you drop five degrees."

Toby did as he was told and once it was malleable enough, she began to shape it into a tower shape, stuffing a small piece of rolled up paper into the top. Then, she took out the lighter and held the flame against the paper. It didn't light. Alex frowned and tried again. No luck.

"Wait here," Alex said, handing Toby the lighter. "I'll be two minutes."

She needed something that would stay upright in the wax yet easily catch fire. A twig was her first thought and Alex sneaked out of the classroom and onto the yard. She found a few worthy contenders by the fence and plucked them up, jamming them in her pocket.

As if struck by some unknown premonition, Alex suddenly had the urge to run back to the classroom. Something was wrong… Maybe leaving Toby with that lighter wasn't such a good idea. She ran back to class and frowned as she looked through the glass window in the door. No need to sneak back in, Mr Fitz wasn't there.

Toby, however, saw her and made his way over to the door as she came in.

"Where's Fitz?"

"He went to the first aid with Jack and Nathan."

"Oh. Anyway, I got the sticks and – wait, where's the lighter?" he wasn't holding it.

"Oh, it's fine, Katie has it," Toby shrugged.

"_Katie?! _What's Katie doing with it?!" Alex hissed. "This was supposed to be secret, you don't let the whole school know!"

"She's helping!" Toby defended.

"How? How could Katie possibly help?"

"She's making it smell nice. Candles are supposed to smell nice."

"She's making it smell nice?" Alex's heart skipped. "Wait, how?"

"How what?"

"How is she making it smell nice?"

"She has some of her mum's perfume in her – Alex! Wait!"

Not even letting him finish his sentence, Alex vaulted over the tables and chairs to get to hers, pushing people out of the way and calling Katie's name.

The only reply she got was a scream.

Alex slid down onto her knees, whacking her head off the desk as she did so, and clamped a hand over Katie's mouth.

"Quiet!"

Katie's eyes were wider than Alex thought possible as she pointed to the candle. Now, it seemed to have no qualm with setting alight, and was burning very merrily away… even more so as it reached the carpet… and Mr Fitz's bag.

Letting go of Katie, Alex threw off her jumper and dashed out the carpet and candle, but the bag was another problem. She needed water. Keeping her hands covered by the cardigan, Alex picked up the bag and ran to the girl's toilets, Toby and Katie close behind her.

"Tap now!"

Katie rushed to fill the sink with water and Alex dumped the bag, along with all of its contents into the basin. It hissed and gave off a thin plume of smoke, then fell silent. The three children peered at its charred edges and swollen contents, as ruined paper began to float out from the opening.

Alex let out a large sigh and shook her head, turning to Katie and Toby.

"You two are most definitely fired."

Katie and Toby looked terrified.

"A-are we going to get into trouble?" Katie stammered.

"No, not unless Mr – oh crap!" before they could react, Alex shoved both of them into a cubical, slamming the door and ordering them to lock it.

By the time she reached her own cubical, Mr Fitz had already seen her. He walked cautiously into the room, eyes locked on the floating bag in the sink.

"Is that mine?" he asked, voice dangerously low.

Alex let the cubical door fall closed and shuffled sullenly over to the sink to stand beside him.

"There was an incident with a Babybel and–"

"Is. It. Mine?"

"Yes."

He closed his eyes, knuckles white around the sink as he took out his ruined phone from the pouch on the front of the bag, tried to turn it on, then let it drop back into the water with a _plop._

"You… are the most badly behaved, ill-mannered, incompetent child I have ever had the misfortune of meeting… What do you have to say for yourself?"

"Umm… thanks? No, no, I mean sorry," she said hastily.

He laughed sourly, "We're going straight to the head about this. This is _the _worst thing you have done during your time at this school."

"It's definitely not."

"Well, we'll just have to see what your parents say, won't we? I bet they won't be pleased you're in trouble again. Now follow me."

Alex winced, that was true. Sherlock and Mycroft had been quite emphatic about behaving this week. She didn't want to disappoint them. She could take back what she did, but she control what happened next.

_Time to swindle._

"Sir," she called and he stopped in the doorway, face still murderous. "I don't think going to the head will be a good idea."

"What? You don't get to–" he started with a pointed finger.

"It's just that, they'll ask how I managed to make the fire and I can't lie, so I'll be forced to tell them I took your lighter, which was in your open bag in a room full of innocent children. And then they'll ask how I got the opportunity to carry out the operation and I'll have to tell them that it was because you left us alone, a class of twenty-seven eight year olds, unsupervised. And _then _they'll ask where you got the evidence, and I'll be obligated to tell them it was because you followed me into the girl's toilets while I was alone."

Mr Fitz's finger had fallen, along with his face.

"See, not so much of a good idea now."

Struggling to contain his rage and disbelief, Fitz spluttered, "You are the most–"

"Badly behaved, ill-mannered, impertinent child you've ever met? Thanks," she said with a sweet smile. "And I do mean that this time."

Mr Fitz made a noise that reminded Alex of the time Logan got a fly stuck up his nose and stood, fists clenched and shaking by his sides.

"Sir… you really need to leave the girl's toilets."

He cleared his throat, "My bag."

Alex picked it up, holding it away from her as it dripped over the tiles and handed it to him. He took it, cradling it and staring down into it. Then he coughed again and avoided Alex's eye as he said.

"We won't speak any more of this."

"Couldn't agree more."

Then he was gone, half-running back to the classroom.

Alex let out her second sigh of relief of the day and whistled for Toby and Katie to come out. Their terror had given way to a combination of awe and shock.

"Did you really just get away with that?" Toby asked, astounded.

Alex shrugged, "Like I said, not the worst I've done."

"What if he tells anyway," Katie asked.

"He won't. I'll bring out the big guns if he does."

"… And what's that?"

"He's having an affair with Mrs McClellan."

"Ooh, my heart is beating so fast! I don't think I'll be able to sleep tonight."

"Alex, we, um, you don't, you know… need us for anything else, do you?"

She rolled her eyes, "Don't worry, you're both still fired."

Katie grabbed Toby's hand gratefully, "Thank God!"

* * *

Mycroft's head was actually pressed against the desk by the time Alex had finished her story and she winced. Sherlock pinched the bridge of his nose, leaning on the desk. Logan resisted the urge to snigger.

"You three look really funny," he said. "Is it like this all the time?"

"More often than enough," Mycroft muttered and straightened up.

"This doesn't change anything right? I mean, technically I didn't get caught for the fire thing and… o-okay, I'll be quiet now," she said, hanging her head at the look Mycroft was giving her.

"So, now we need to add your sentences together, for getting suspended today and nearly burning your school down last month."

"That's an exaggeration," Alex began.

"Don't even try, you're not helping yourself," Sherlock said, cutting her off. "There's no way you can swindle your way out of this one."

"Fine," she huffed. "Lay it on me."

Mycroft narrowed his eyes at her, "Except for school, you're confined to the house for three weeks."

"What?!"

"In which time, you'll be Googling what third degree burns look like and what happens to those who cause them."

"I was making a candle not a statement! I'm not an arsonist!"

"You're a pain in the arsonist," Sherlock murmured.

"Sherlock," Mycroft said warningly.

"You're telling _her_ off, not me."

"What about me?" Logan asked. "You're not going to tell me off are you?"

Sherlock and Mycroft turned to glower him and he shrunk slightly in his seat.

"Y-yeah, th-that's enough t-telling off. W-won't do it again, promise."

Alex swatted Sherlock on the arm, "Behave."

"Kettle, black."

Alex looked up at Mycroft accusingly, "Tell him! He's baiting me!"

"Shut _up!"_

"I'll say whatever I bloody well want to say!" Sherlock exclaimed.

Alex stood up and oh-so-maturely stamped her foot, "Mycroft, see where I get it from! It's genetic, I can't help it!"

"Maybe if you _tried _to behave instead of acting like a Neanderthal!"

"Learnt from the best!"

"Don't insult me!"

"Don't insult _me!"_

"You're a child!"

"So are you!"

"You're–"

"RIGHT!" Mycroft bellowed, chair scraping back against the floor as he stood up. A hush fell across the room. "Alex, that desk over there, Sherlock, that chair over there!"

"You can't tell me to–"

"If you don't move, I'll have you deported before the day is over. Move!"

Alex hurried over to where she was allocated and Sherlock, albeit slower and with a definite mark of confusion on his face. Alex sat down at the desk and rested her chin on her hands as Sherlock steepled his beneath his chin.

Logan, having been forgotten about, coughed nervously, "Um… Mr Holmes? Wh-where should I go?"

Mycroft sighed, "Uh, over near the window."

Logan got up and hovered awkwardly, "Sh-should I just sit on the floor or…?"

With a roll of his eyes, Sherlock threw him a cushion from his chair and Logan sat on it.

Mycroft looked to each corner of the room, where he was met with two glares, and the back of a boy's head, but, essentially, silence.

"See, isn't that better?"

Before anyone could respond, Mycroft's phone began to ring.

"Hello?" he answered. "Yes… no, I know the meeting started an hour ago… I was incapacitated… _busy… oh, _what could possibly have me so busy?" Mycroft looked between Sherlock, Alex, and Logan. "Civil war."

* * *

**Thanks to everyone who reviewed!**

**Thanks for reading!**

**Abby**

**X**


	15. Nightmare

**Disclaimer: I do not own Sherlock or anything related to the show. All rights go to the BBC. I own Alex :)**

**Author's Note: Hey! It's been a while since I uploaded a chapter to this story! I'm struggling with the next chapter of Exception a little (but muddling through, don't worry) so I thought a fluffy little chapter of LI would break up the stress a little bit, haha. I actually planned this chapter out ****_so _****long ago, even before I started LI and I just found it :D I hope you guys like it because we haven't seen Alex and Sherlock together for a long, long time.**

**Enjoy:**

_Alex is eight._

It crunched underfoot, just like it had done the previous day. Clumps of dead heather, dry and spindly, scratching at the bottom of his shoes and snagging on the fabric of his coat. The sky was grey yet somehow cloudless, just blank, harsh, and cold.

He knew he was dreaming. He knew what was coming next.

The DI walked just behind him, breathing heavily in the crisp morning air, trying to catch up. Everyone else was spread out, combing the moorland, rows of bodies hunched over for any sign of the girl. She had to be here. All the evidence pointed to this place. Everyone had gone to Sherlock expecting him to find her alive, but he had told them otherwise. He interpreted the evidence, he didn't change the crime. This had to be where she was buried.

"Over here!" someone shouted.

It wasn't an excited shout. It had no bearings of the glee usually held in the voice of someone who has finally found what they have been looking for. It was just loud, and dull.

Just like that, the pace changed. From what had been hurried footfalls and heavy breaths, now was a resigned walk. They had known, of course they had. But now there was no denying it.

He heard the DI sigh. Sherlock turned to him, seeing the beads of frost on the hairs of his beard shudder. He closed his eyes briefly and extended his hand.

"Thank you, Mr Holmes."

Sherlock took it, and they slowly made their way to the growing crowd. Someone turned away with an anguished groan, resting their hands on their knees and bending over, looking as if they were trying not to vomit. Soon, the others followed, unable to look anymore.

Once most had drifted a few yards away, Sherlock walked up to the body. He knew exactly what she looked like, he didn't need a dream for that. She was permanently etched into his mind. The way he had placed her beneath the bracken, so that it peppered her fair skin with red scratches and tugged the hair out of her plaits. The way her school uniform was torn and bloody around the neck, and the thick grey tights laddered. But it was her eyes. The pale, blue eyes that stared up into the blank sky. They could have belonged to an eighty year-old woman. But no, they belonged to an eight year-old girl.

And gradually, like he knew it would, the dead face of the dead little girl began to morph. He curled his nose, trying to make himself turn away, but he couldn't. The uniform faded from red to blue. The skin turned paler, cheekbones higher, frame smaller and skinnier, until he wasn't looking at poor Elsie McDonald anymore. He was looking at Alex.

He woke suddenly, with a sharp intake of breath. His hands had bunched the duvet up so tightly, that the fabric had almost ripped. He stared up to his ceiling. He could feel his heart hammering in his chest and he willed himself to calm down.

What if it had been Alex? It was, of course, ridiculous. That specific serial killer had only operated in the rural highlands of northern Scotland. But it could just as easily happened in London. Sherlock knew how easily. He helped catch the ones who did it every day.

"Stop," he mumbled to himself, pulling himself out of his bed to pace.

He was torturing himself. Elsie McDonald was dead. There was nothing he could do about it. Alex was not dead. Alex was in the next room, sleeping. She was very much alive and in the morning, would wear that clean, un-torn school uniform and tie up her bracken-free hair while eating whatever sugary rubbish she ate for breakfast.

She was alive.

Sherlock was ashamed as he felt a sudden need to check that fact. He needed to see that she was breathing, and that there were no scratches on her face. But he stopped himself. She would be sleeping. It would be stupid to wake her up now, especially with school the next day. She had had a clean report for three weeks and a restless night could jeopardise that. Sherlock didn't want to explain _that _to Mycroft.

Instead, he continued to pace, reassuring himself that Alex was in the next room, asleep.

* * *

In fact, Alex wasn't asleep, nor was she in her room. Sometime in the night, she had woken up with a dry throat, still recovering from the flu she had had all weekend. Because Sherlock had been so tired when he returned home from Scotland, he had forgotten to put a glass of water by her bed. Usually, she wouldn't have gotten out of bed – this flat twisted in strange ways and there were far too many hiding places for people to lurk, to venture out alone in the middle of the night – but she was feeling especially brave and had managed to make it to the kitchen without being attacked.

After getting her drink, fatigue had hit her, and she had somehow managed to fall asleep at the kitchen table. It was only a loud bang from the flat above that woke Alex up. She looked at the clock and saw that it was two o'clock in the morning. She was sure it had only been midnight a few seconds ago.

Filling up another drink, Alex slipped off the stool and began to traipse back to bed, so tired that she couldn't be bothered to be afraid of murderers in the dark. However, a strange sound brought her back to her senses. It was coming from Sherlock's room. Footsteps. Back and forth. Back and forth. Back and forth.

Strange, he usually paced in the living room. There was more space there. That had to mean something was wrong.

She thought back to what he had told when he had picked her up from Mycroft's.

_"It was a bad case, Alex."_

_"What happened?" _

_"There was a girl your age who went missing."_

_"Did you find her?"_

_"… In a manner of speaking."_

She had grimaced and told him she was sorry, but she had seen a shadow in his eyes and dropped it. She knew that shadow had been in her own eyes before. When something bad happened, nights were always the worst.

Alex frowned. Whenever she couldn't sleep or had a nightmare, she would go to someone – Mycroft or Sherlock – and that would make her feel better. Who did Sherlock go to when _he _had nightmares?

Her? No. He wouldn't do that. He was too proud, as Mycroft would say. Too stubborn.

But Alex knew that when you had that look in your eye, what you really needed was just someone to be with you.

And so Alex decided. She quietly tiptoed back to her room and grabbed her teddy, holding it under her arm, and carrying her glass in the other. She then shuffled back to Sherlock's room and knocked quietly on the door with her teddy's arm.

The footsteps quickly increased and the door opened.

"Alex, what's wrong? It's late," he said.

"I can't sleep. I had a bad dream," she replied, sniffling a little.

Sherlock sighed and gave her a small grimace. He took her glass of water and put it on the cabinet beside his bed, then picked Alex up as if she were much younger than she was, sitting with his back against the headboard. He pulled the covers over her.

"Go to sleep or you'll be homicidal in the morning," he said.

"Do you have bad dreams?"

"No," he shifted so that she was more comfortable. "Go back to sleep."

She looked up at him as if to correct him, but the urge to sleep was too strong and she closed her eyes.

* * *

She stayed like that for the rest of the night, until it was time to get up. Alex had fallen asleep not two minutes after bidding her uncle goodnight, and moaned at the sudden movement as he picked her up and set her on her feet.

"S'too early!" she whined.

"No, it's not. It's later than usual, come on. You need to get to school."

"School's dull."

"Yes, well you have to go. Hurry, go and get dressed."

Alex glared at him as she dragged her feet to her room. She pulled on her pale blue school shirt, the buttons in the wrong holes, and had to go through three different pairs of trousers to find ones without tears in the knees. She scraped her hair into possibly the sloppiest ponytail of her life, and moped back to the living room.

Sherlock turned at the sound of her grumbling, and sighed. He went down on one knee to sort out the button situation, and grabbed her dark blue cardigan off the radiator. He helped her arms into it as she refused to co-operate and buttoned that up, too.

"Have you forgotten the last five years of your life?" he asked. "I haven't had to dress you since you were three."

His eyes lingered on the school crest stitched into the chunky cardigan. His dream hadn't included that. Yet another reminder that it wasn't real.

"Come and eat some toast while I fix your hair," Sherlock said, lifting her on his knee at the kitchen table.

"Already did my hair," Alex said through a mouthful of her breakfast.

"Yes, I can see that. It looks worse than Mycroft's."

Alex snorted, then focussed on one of her favourite cartoons that was just beginning, periodically saying 'ouch!' as Sherlock pulled her hair a little too hard. He hadn't realised he had plaited it until it was finished, and he had a good mind to quickly take it back out. It looked like Elsie McDonald's.

No sooner had the thought crossed his mind, that Alex's hand went back to her hair and she cooed, "That feels pretty good actually! Does it look good?"

"Uh, yes. It does, yes."

Now more awake after her breakfast, Alex jumped down off his lap and put her empty plate in the sink. She then hurried to put on her shoes and stood beside the door, waiting for Sherlock to open it. It was a rough area, and one of the rules was that she wasn't allowed out without him physically opening the door and saying she could.

On his way over to her, he noticed that she wasn't holding her PE kit, only her book bag. He saw it underneath the sofa and picked it up without Alex noticing. He then opened the door and told Alex to run and press the button for the lift, knowing it took a long time to work.

Only when they finally got to school – surprisingly on time – did Alex realise she had forgotten her PE kit. Before she could begin to rant about how angry her teacher was going to be, Sherlock handed her the drawstring bag and Alex let out a huge sigh of relief.

"Saved my life there," she said with a smile. "You might want these," she held out the keys. "You were a bit preoccupied. Didn't lock the door."

"When did you?" Sherlock asked, taking the keys in shock.

"When we were waiting in the lift and you went into your mind palace," she stood up on her tiptoes. "Ooh, there's Logan. See you tonight!"

Sherlock stood, staring at the keys in his hand, saying somewhat lamely after she had gone, "Bye."

He quickly looked around to make sure no one had heard and stashed the keys in his pocket. He didn't want to go to the flat, but he didn't want to go to the Yard, either. Instead, he just went for a walk. He knew exactly where his thoughts would take him, but he couldn't help himself.

He didn't know why this case was bothering him so much. Well, no, he knew _exactly _why. It was because she had looked so startlingly like Alex, and he had walked in her room, and seen it just as Alex's. And when the dead girl's father broke down, for the first time during a case, Sherlock could completely empathise. Perhaps it was because May was gone, now, that Alex had become – without sounding cold – his. It was like Penelope Smith, the tomboy murdered by Bradshaw the previous year. Their deaths weighed down on him like no other case had before, and it was all because of Alex.

He felt for the keys in his pocket. He needed to pay more attention to her. There had been a brief moment when he hadn't even realised she had gone back to lock the door. A brief moment was more than long enough for something to happen. It had been more than long enough for Elise.

* * *

School finished at 3:20. Sherlock was there at 3:00. That had earned him a mocking text from Mycroft.

**You're keen today. Trying to win some kind of parenting award?**

He had ignored him and waited until the first few children came out of the doors to the gate. Sherlock thought Alex would be close to the last one out, as she always was, but this time, she surprised him. She was among the first, and didn't have her bag half open and cardigan only on one arm as she usually did.

Logan wasn't even with her. Instead of waiting for him, Alex handed Sherlock her bag with a smile.

"You're ready early," Sherlock commented, taking the bag.

Alex shrugged, "I've finished the last book in the library so I've been kicking my heels a bit."

That was Mycroft's saying.

Instead of taking the lift when they got back to the flat, Sherlock insisted they took the stairs. At least then there would be no chance of him slipping into his mind and not paying attention while waiting for the old lift to arrive. By the fourth floor, Alex was getting tired, and he had to piggy-back her the rest of the way.

He made a point of unlocking and locking the door again before putting Alex down.

The rest of the night passed normally, with the exception of Sherlock doing his experiment in the living room instead of the kitchen, balancing his petri dishes on his knee so that he could keep an eye on Alex as she watched an old Disney film. They then got a takeaway.

With a full stomach and an interrupted sleep pattern, Sherlock watched as Alex slowly began to drift off at the table. He should have carried her to bed, or woken her enough to go herself, but he couldn't bring himself to. It was too early.

Selfishly, he shook her awake, asking if she had any homework. He had expected an angry rebuke at waking her up, but after a second of irritation, she nodded and said that she did have homework. She went and retrieved the maths booklet she had, and Sherlock began to go through each question, not missing the yawns she tried to conceal. Finally, when her eyes looked like they were being pulled down by weights, he conceded. He was being too selfish.

He sent her to change into her pyjamas and get ready for bed. Once she did, he immediately felt her absence in the room. Hearing the water stop running in the bathroom, he followed her into her bedroom, pulling the duvet over her as she climbed into bed.

He didn't usually tuck her in to bed. That was something they didn't really do. It was usually a call of 'goodnight' from the door. But he figured she was so tired she wouldn't remember it.

"Try to actually sleep tonight," he mumbled, and her eyes closed. That went for both of them.

Her school uniform laid in a pile beside her bed, and he picked it up, folded it, and put it on top of her dresser. His hand lingered over the cardigan. It could so easily have been red. It could so easily have been Elise's.

Exhausted even though one night of sleep would usually last him a few days, Sherlock left Alex's room in favour of his own, changed into pyjamas, and tried to fall into a dreamless sleep. He should have known better.

* * *

Once she was sure he was in his room and everything had gone silent, Alex forced herself to leave her warm duvet, though she wanted to stay there so badly. Instead, with eyes half-closed with sleep and head fuzzy, she quietly creeped onto the landing outside Sherlock's room and sat against the wall, listening.

Every few minutes, when she would feel herself nod off, she would pinch her forearm, and jerk awake again. Maybe he would be okay. Maybe one night of bad dreams was enough for him. But she wasn't going to leave until she was sure.

It was an undeterminable amount of time later that Alex heard the gasp. It was short and quiet, but the walls were thin, and she heard it. The mattress squeaked as her uncle moved, no doubt to sit up, and last night's pacing resumed.

Now desperately tired, Alex almost missed the door when she went to knock. She hardly registered that it was open until she blinked and realised Sherlock was knelt in front of her.

"Nightmares?"

She nodded. Just not hers.

Just as he had done before, almost gratefully, he picked her up and carried her to his bed, where he sat up against the headboard.

"Want to talk about it?" he asked.

"Do _you?" _she replied sleepily.

He frowned down at her, unsure how to respond. So he didn't. He just closed his eyes, not needing to repeat the fact that Alex was alive over and over in his mind, because she was there.

* * *

Her ear was pressed against his chest, and she listened as his heart gradually slowed down to a calm, steady beat. She smiled into his pyjama shirt, and knew now that she could sleep.

* * *

**I think this story shows how the relationship between Alex and Sherlock goes both ways, with each trying to protect and care for the other without really letting on just how much they do. **

**Hope you liked it :D**

**Thanks for reading,**

**Please review,**

**Abby**

**X**


	16. Wandering

**Disclaimer: I do not own Sherlock or anything related to the show. All rights go to the BBC. I own Alex :)**

**Author's Note: I'm an idiot. As someone reviewed, I have a strange concept of a Wednesday, haha. Would you believe me if I said I have chapters written but forget to post them? Anyway, again this _isn't _a Wednesday but the next chapter of Exception isn't quite ready yet and I don't want to leave you guys with nothing so here you go! (I get it, the schedule has gone to shit. But we're friends so it's fine, right? :D)**

**Also, I'm taking prompts for this story! Any milestone/occasion/case/scenario with Alex aged 0-14 (or Sherlock, Mycroft, or May while Alex is this age) is great!**

**Enjoy:**

* * *

_Alex is 5._

* * *

She cried. That was all she could do really. That, and run from the scalding hot water dripping off the kitchen counter. She cradled her burning hand against her chest, not holding back her wails of pain.

"MUM!" she yelled tearfully. "MUM, HELP!"

Alex stared up at the stairs through her clouded eyes and waited.

And waited.

And waited.

"MUM!"

The stairs remained empty.

Gathering her courage, Alex took a deep breath and ascended the stairs, crying out each time her hand brushed against the fabric of her shirt. By the time she reached her mother's bedroom, she was in agony.

"Mum, help," she blubbered, hurrying to where her mother was asleep in her bed.

"Mum."

Her mother was facing her, laid curled up under her thick duvet. Light from the gap between the curtains was shining directly into her open eyes but she didn't react.

"Mum, please. It hurts," Alex sobbed. "My hand hurts."

With her good hand, she shook her shoulder.

"Wake up! You're breathing so you're not dead. Mum, wake up and help me!"

_Mycroft and Sherlock, _she suddenly thought, slipping off the bed and running to the phone. She dialled the number Mycroft had made her memorise, but there was no beeping as she typed in the numbers, and no ringing sound. Frowning, she typed in Sherlock's. Still no sound. She knelt and found the wire that was supposed to be plugged into the wall severed in two.

Her hand was now beginning to blister and bleed slightly. Not only that, it seemed to be sitting at a strange angle, so much so that it made her feel sick to look at it.

"Who else?" Alex muttered, trying to keep her mind off the pain.

_Mrs McFall._

But as Alex knocked on the old lady's door for the sixth time, shivering in the cold and biting back more tears, she realised that she must have gone out.

_Mobiles._

Flat.

She couldn't find Mum's charger and upon looking for hers, she remembered leaving it on charge at Mycroft's house.

"You're so stupid, Alessandra," she reprimanded herself harshly. "Idiot."

The chastisement pushed her over the edge and she fell against the front door, crying until her throat was sore.

"MUM!" she yelled one last time, waited, then stood up.

The look on her face would have had Mycroft locking her in her room. It was her look of pure determination. Jaw jutted out, chin high, shoulders squared. Nothing would stop her getting in touch with her uncles, phones be damned. As Mrs McFall said all the time, _it's time to do things the old fashioned way._

* * *

Sherlock was on his way back to his flat when he saw the child. It had just been a successful case but unfortunately his success hadn't followed him into his endeavours to hail a cab, so he had resorted to walking.

The child seemed to be with a man and was wearing a hat exactly the same as Alex's, which was strange considering Mycroft had bought it for her when working in Sweden. It was the same dark blue with the white trim, and a small knitted elk on the side of it. He would have fun taunting Mycroft about that later. God forbid his niece have something the same as another lowly child in London.

The amusement began to wane as he got closer to the child and realised that they were wearing the same red ladybird coat Alex had. And the same brown boots.

But it couldn't be Alex. The child was with their father and he in no way resembled Mycroft.

The man came to a sudden stop, making Sherlock stop too. He looked at his wrist, threw his head back in frustration, then turned towards Sherlock and began walking back the way he came.

Without the child.

"Excuse me," Sherlock said, confused.

The man paused, "I'm in a rush, what?"

Sherlock pointed to the child.

"She's not mine," the man shrugged, and carried on his way.

Sherlock turned back to the child and with dawning horror, watched as they turned towards the road, giving him a glimpse at the side of their face. And the curly black hair falling out from under her hat. He ran and a second before she was about to cross, he scooped her up and carried her into the opening of an alley beside a jewellers.

She tried to scream against his hand covering her mouth but her voice seemed hoarse to begin with. She kicked out and thrashed, doing frighteningly little against Sherlock's hold. After a few more seconds, he turned her around to face him.

"Alex, it's me."

She continued to fight.

"ALEX!" he yelled, and she immediately stilled, pressing her back as far as possible against the wall.

"Sherlock," she whispered. "I was - "

"You were what, exactly?" he snapped. "Come on, I'm looking forward to hearing this one."

"I was coming to find you."

"Well it's a bloody good job it was _me _that found _you, _isn't it?" he hissed, looming over her. "Anyone could have taken you like that, anyone. Do you have any idea what they would have done to you?"

"I-I," Alex's eyes filled with tears again.

"Do you know where I've just been, Alex? I've been catching a _murderer _who liked to cut up his victims from their feet to their throats. What would you have done if it was him who saw you and decided to grab you and not me?" he grasped her shoulders, shaking her slightly. "Hmm? What would you have done?"

She was crying now, properly crying.

"Exactly. You wouldn't have been able to do anything. He would have just cut you up and left you in this alley. And no one seems to be coming to help now."

It was true. If anyone had seen Sherlock pick Alex up, they clearly were too busy to care.

"What were you thinking? Why are you here on your own?"

She muttered something but it was too distorted by tears for him to discern any meaning.

"I can't understand you, speak properly."

She flinched at his tone, making him decide it was time to change tactics. He crouched in front of her, letting go of her shoulders.

"Where's your mother?"

"She… she," Alex said with obvious effort. "She was in bed and then I got breakfast because I was hungry but I spilt the milk so I went to tell her because last time she got angry but she was still asleep so I waited a bit more and then it got to lunch time and I was hungry again but Mum still hadn't woken up so I decided to make her tea and toast in bed but I spilt the tea because I slipped on the milk and it hurt my hand and I shouted for her but she didn't come down so I went up and she was still in bed but her eyes were open so I knew she wasn't dead but my hand really hurt so I went to call you and Mycroft but the phone wasn't working and I left mine at Mycroft's and Mum's had no charge and I couldn't find the charger and - " her face began to turn an alarming shade of purple.

"Alex, breathe," he said, changing his crouch to a kneel and holding her arms.

She took a noisy, shuddering breath, still sobbing.

"Calm down," he said, brushing away some of her tears with the side of his finger. "You're okay."

"But you're m-mad."

"I'm not anymore. Now I'm listening."

She nodded, "I didn't know what to do so I thought I could walk to yours because it isn't that far."

"It is for someone with legs as little as you."

"I know now."

He pursed his lips before picking her up, "We'll go back to mine and get Mycroft to see your mother. Okay?"

"'Kay."

* * *

Holding a child had made it easier for him to collar a cab back to his flat, Alex sobbing all the way. He put her on the sofa and brought her the jigsaw tray she had been playing with when she was last there.

When he took her boots off, he realised she hadn't been wearing socks, and blisters had formed along the back and sides of her heel.

"What have you been told about socks?"

"T-to wear them," she said, hiccuping.

He sighed and brushed her curls back from where they were sticking to her tear-stained face.

"You don't need to keep crying. I'm not mad anymore. As long as you promise to not do it again, we don't even have to mention it."

She only cried harder. Sherlock suddenly became suspicious.

"Alex, what's wrong?"

It was then he noticed the way she was holding her arm, as if protecting the other. He reached for it.

"No!" Alex yelled.

He gave her a stern look then continued to gently prise it away from her other arm and carefully remove her glove.

Alex gave a sharp yelp of pain, for that was what he recognised it as now.

"I can only make it better if you let me look at it," he said.

He slowly pulled the glove off.

Then he stared.

Then Alex cried.

And then he picked her up and called for one of Mycroft's cars to take them to the hospital.

* * *

Though Mycroft was certain - if she was to take after any of them - that Alex would land herself in hospital many more times in her life, there was something profoundly terrifying about it happening with Alex being so young. He had cancelled his meeting, much to many diplomats' chagrin, and after seeing to his sister, headed straight to the private room he had demanded Alex to be moved to.

He opened the door to see Alex not laid on the bed like she should have been, but sat on Sherlock's knee in the visitor's seat, staring out of the window. He had his arms around her protectively, seeming unwilling to let her stray even an inch out of his hold.

"What's the damage?" he asked his brother.

"That's rude. You're supposed to say hi to me first, and then give me grapes," Alex said. "But I don't like grapes so a hi will be fine."

He sighed, "Hello, Alex. Sherlock?"

"Mild second degree burns to her left hand and a broken wrist."

"Because I slipped on the hot water."

"Treatment?"

"Cream, bandages, cast, painkillers."

"No lasting damage?"

"No."

Mycroft exhaled deeply, relieved. He then crossed the room and looked down at Alex.

"Are you alright?"

"It doesn't hurt anymore."

"So this is why you decided to walk seven miles to Sherlock's on your own?"

Alex blushed, "Yeah."

"Well we're fortunate there's no permanent damage and that Sherlock was the one to find you or you might have had a lot worse than that."

"I'm sorry," Alex said honestly. "I really am. It just hurt a lot and I wanted you to make it better but I couldn't get hold of you."

"We'll sort that issue out," Mycroft promised her. "Apology accepted."

"They had to cut off the sleeve of my shirt."

"I'll get you another."

She nodded, starting to pick at the sides of her bandage instead of the sleeve that should have been there. Sherlock brushed her hand away.

"It won't heal if you don't let it," he said.

Alex nodded solemnly.

Mycroft narrowed his eyes as she looked out to the window, her own eyes looking increasingly shinier.

"Do you need some more pain medication?" he asked.

Her only answer was a muffled cry.

Sherlock jumped to attention immediately, turning her over to face him. She burrowed into his chest, trembling.

"You've already had the full amount you're allowed to take," he said. "Just two more hours and you can have more."

She shook her head.

"Doesn't hurt."

"Then what?"

"… M-Mum."

Mycroft put his hand to her back, "Your mother's fine. She's staying with me a few days again. She's okay."

Alex partially uncovered her face, "Promise?"

"I promise."

"And she's not mad at me?"

"Why on earth would she be mad at you?"

"Because I'm not supposed to tell people she does that because someone might… take me away," she turned back into Sherlock's shirt and cried.

"Oh May, you idiot," Sherlock murmured almost inaudibly.

He looked over to his brother, nodding for him to take this one.

"Alex, look at me," he said sternly.

She did, knowing better than to not listen to that voice.

"Who am I?" he asked.

"You're the… the g-g-government," she stuttered.

"And as the government, do you think I would allow for someone to take you away?"

She shrugged.

"That's not an answer."

"Yes."

"That's the wrong answer."

"No."

"Good," Mycroft said, wholly unsatisfied.

"What if someone knows what happened today and decides that Mum can't look after me?" Alex asked.

"If that happened, you have two other people to look after you. We already do."

"So… nothing's going to change?"

"No, nothing. Except you might have a very small scar on the back of your hand."

Alex looked down at the bandages - Sherlock preparing to bat her hand away if necessary - then back up at Mycroft, eyes drying.

"_Cool."_

* * *

"Your room has been made up for you," Mycroft said that night.

"I won't need it," Sherlock said quietly, so as not to wake the sleeping five year old in his arms.

He carried her to her room just down from Mycroft's study and put her to bed, making sure to keep her injured hand on a separate pillow.

"You'll have to deal with May," Sherlock said, emerging from the room to meet his brother. "I'm too angry."

"I'm not much happier," Mycroft said. "I haven't told her about the broken bone or the burns yet. She's too unpredictable for that at the moment."

"I can't believe she really told Alex that. I can forgive the blacking out, that's all part of her condition but that?" Sherlock shook his head. "I'll take care of Alex. She needs some more pain relief in an hour and forty minutes but I'll stay with her in case she wakes up before."

Not waiting for a reply, Sherlock closed Alex's door and Mycroft heard the creak of the arm chair beside her bed as he sat down.

Well, at least a positive had emerged from this, Mycroft reflected, and it was that if anything did happen to May, Sherlock would be an unquestionably good parent to their niece.

* * *

**I really wanted to show more of May in this one (and future chapters too) even though she didn't say anything. Alex is late five here so everything with May goes down pretty soon after and I want to show the build up to that, as well as the adjusting of Sherlock and Mycroft. I haven't written THAT chapter yet. I'm waiting maybe until I write the wedding of John and Mary so everything's happy in Exception before I tear my heart out writing this one. **

**Thank you so much to everyone who reviewed! 3**

**Have an awesome day,**

**Thanks for reading,**

**Abby**

**X**


	17. Dad

**Disclaimer: I do not own Sherlock or anything related to the show. All rights go to the BBC. I own Alex :)**

**Author's Note: Next chapter of Exception will go up New Year's Day, right before the new episode - ARGHHH! So much excitement but terror at how the hell I'm going to fit Alex into this. I hope nothing too bad happens or I don't think she'll be able to take it.**

**This chapter is May-centric as promised and has spoilers for Alex's father, which is kind of obvious anyway but if you aren't caught up with Exception, you might not want to read this. **

* * *

_Alex is four._

* * *

"Lee's Mum and Dad got divorced yesterday," Alex said unexpectedly.

May looked up from her glass, cocking her head at her daughter, "Really?"

"Mm-hmm. He started crying," Alex said.

"That's terrible."

"Yeah. He said things were never gonna feel right again because the three of them are never going to be together again."

May didn't reply, just took another significantly larger sip of her drink.

Alex took the hat she was playing with off her head with a pensive look on her face.

"Mum?"

"Yeah?"

"Why do people get divorced?"

_Please don't ask me that, Alex. Ask me why the sky is blue and I can blag my way through an explanation. Be a kid._

But May supposed it was a very _kid_ question.

"Sometimes things don't work out the way they're planned to," she said, her voice getting lower with each word. "Sometimes… yeah."

"Oh," Alex said. "They seemed really happy when I went over for tea and they came to pick him up together. Not many mums and dads come together at home time but Lee's always did. I suppose they won't now. S'sad."

"Mm-hmm."

"How can people act really happy when they're not?"

"Alex, can we talk about something a little more cheerful?" May almost begged.

"I want to talk about this because I don't understand. Uncle Sherlock and Uncle Mycroft say I can ask them whatever I don't understand and they'll explain it."

"Well I'm not Sherlock or Mycroft, am I?" May snapped, finishing her drink off in one swig and reaching for the other bottle in the cabinet.

"I just don't know how a person can look happy when they're actually sad. I've never seen it."

"You've never seen it?" May echoed, disbelief written across her face. _"Never?"_

"No," Alex said innocently, crossing her legs on the floor and looking up at her. "When you're sad, you look sad."

May scoffed, unscrewing the bottle viciously and taking a gulp.

"You don't know anything, Alex," she said in a deep, spiteful voice. "Go upstairs."

"But I haven't done anything!" Alex exclaimed, scandalised.

"Go upstairs now!"

Alex folded her arms as she stood up and stormed upstairs, slamming her bedroom door for good measure. May knew what that felt like, slamming her own bedroom door in her parents' and brothers' faces didn't seem so long ago. They weren't, really. She was twenty-one. Twenty-one with a four year old.

"Fucking hell," she spat, moving from the dining table chair to the sofa, tucking up her legs and clutching the bottle protectively to her stomach.

It wasn't because she'd had Alex so young. She had met many other mothers the same age as her but they seemed so collected. Or at least, if they weren't, they were the right sort of uncollected. Sleep-deprived but glowing. Crayon on their shirt but a smile on their face. They weren't like her. If people knew…

"No," she moaned as she felt her eyes fill.

She supposed she should send Alex to Sherlock or Mycroft's for the night. Get her out of the house. Away from her.

_If she isn't safe around you for a night then you don't deserve to have her when it suits you._

She smiled bitterly. It was right. She couldn't have a child, she didn't deserve a child, and if Alex stayed with her, she'd end up exactly as May herself did. These thoughts were on a cycle, rearing every few weeks but every time they did, they were no less painful to hear.

"Come on, Jim," May whispered, feeling herself slip into drunkenness. "Where are you now? Hmm?"

What she wouldn't give to have _that _Jim. To feel his arms fold around her, keeping the world out and making the only thing she could see the front of his shirt and his grin. To feel herself melt into him, feel like nothing could ever happen to them, like she didn't have to worry about anything ever again.

She traced a finger across her cheek, closing her eyes and pretending it was him. His touch had always been cold, soothing to fire that always bubbled beneath her skin. When Alex had been sick, she hadn't allowed her to touch her because she was too hot to start with.

Then, a dangerous image slapped May in the face.

He was kneeling beside Alex, brushing back the black hair they shared and placing his cool hand against her forehead. She imagined her leaning into him, closing her eyes and being lulled to sleep by his soft Irish accent. Her calling him Dad.

Maybe he could…

"NO!" she yelled, shooting to her feet and letting the bottle smash at her feet. "No, no, no, no."

He couldn't. Never. She could never let him near her. She would never let him touch her. He would never have the chance to hurt her, ever. Even if there was a chance that he could see her and love her as much as she did, and they could be a family, she would never risk it.

"Mum?" Alex asked from behind the closed living room door.

"Don't come in, baby," May called shakily. "Th-there's some glass."

"Okay. Will you come out here, Mum?"

"I need to clean up."

"Please."

May managed to make it to the door and open it. She blinked several times to clear her vision before she was able to discern the image of Alex crying.

"What's wrong?" she demanded, falling to her knees in front of her. "Has…?"

No. It couldn't. He couldn't.

"I heard you smash things. I heard you crying. I don't like it when you cry, Mum," Alex said, her voice warbling.

May held out her arms and scooped up Alex, who clung to her. May hid her face in Alex's hair, feeling herself shuddering with each of Alex's sobs. Making sure to have a tight hold, May slowly made her way up the stairs and into Alex's bedroom. She climbed into Alex's bed, propping herself up against the wall.

"I didn't mean to make you upset, Mum," Alex said, wiping away her tears with a clumsy hand, completely ignoring her own.

May wiped away Alex's with a gentle hand.

She could see him in her. Of course, Sherlock and Mycroft didn't see it as they had convinced themselves that she was hundred percent May. She knew different. It was in her smile that she saw it most. She had her father's exact smile, the way it was slightly lopsided and showed the top half of her teeth. She knew when her adult teeth came through, they would be exactly the same as his.

"I love you, Alex," she said, holding her wrists.

"Love you too. And you're good, Mum."

"Hmm?"

Alex smiled - _oh God, that smile _\- and said, "You're younger than the other mums. I heard you say that to Mycroft. But you're better than them. Promise."

May smiled back, aware of the strangely nice pain in her chest at the words.

"Is it… is it because I said I know when you're sad?" Alex asked.

"No, sweetheart."

"Because you're good at that too. I just know. 'Cause you're my mum."

May nodded, the pain increasing, "I'm your mum."

"Of course you are," Alex said, giggling a little.

"And your…" _did she dare say it? Was she strong enough to? _"Your dad would have loved you so much."

Alex frowned at her, "My dad?"

May took a shaky breath before nodding, "Yes, Alex. Your daddy. He would have adored you."

"But I thought… Could we… Could we go see him?" Alex asked, looking thoroughly confused.

"No, baby," she said, not doing anything to stem the tears flowing from her eyes. "He's not a very nice man. He's a bad man."

"How can a bad man love me?"

"I ask myself that every day, Al'."

"But who is he?"

"He's gone," May said. "Neither of us will see him again. But that's okay, isn't it?"

"As long as you don't go. I don't care 'bout Dad, I just care about you, 'cause you're here and he isn't," Alex said firmly.

May laughed weakly, "Why are you so clever?"

She shrugged, "'Cause you guys are clever."

"Me as well?" May asked, genuinely surprised.

"Course. You're just as clever as Uncle Sherlock and Uncle Mycroft. And I don't need a daddy because I have them and they're good enough. Y'know the new teacher at school thought Uncle Sherlock was my dad and he got really embarrassed because he said he wasn't and she wouldn't let me go home with him because she thought he was kidnapping me," Alex laughed, May joining her. "So he had to get Uncle Mycroft to come and explain and then they both bought me a pizza and a milkshake so that I wouldn't tell you because they said they'd 'never hear the end of it.'"

"Really?" May said, feeling the tension inside her uncoil. "And what else have they bribed you not to tell me?"

"Well once Sherlock left his gun on the desk when I was a lot littler and it fell on me. He said it was okay because it didn't have any bullets in but Uncle Mycroft said it wasn't okay because he shouldn't have left the gun out. He was going to tell you but then Sherlock said he'd tell on him for letting me fall out of the window."

"You fell out of a _window?! _How do I not know about this?!_"_

"It was only his study so it wasn't far. I just hurt my knee a bit and he put a plaster on and bought me that," Alex pointed to the giant stuffed teddy at the end of the bed. "And then me and Uncle Sherlock laughed a lot."

"Anything else? I'm finding this quite enlightening."

"Um… Uncle Mycroft nearly put me in the washing machine once," Alex said cheerfully. "I was hiding in the washing basket under all my clothes and he tipped it into the washing machine and was about to close the lid when I shouted 'boo!'."

"What did he do?"

"He tripped over the basket and then shouted at me and then bought me my roller boots. Oh! And there was the time Sherlock locked me in a chest freezer by accident."

"How on earth does someone get locked in a freezer by accident?"

"We were playing hide and seek and I was sick of hiding behind the curtains so I climbed into the freezer. I propped the lid up a bit so I could breathe, then Uncle Sherlock saw and closed it so I started banging against sides and he lifted me out and said I could watch Disney films while he did my homework for me."

May laughed, imagining her big brother doing Alex's reception class homework and her bigger brother pouring soap powder over her daughter's head, and the mortified look on his face she could clearly conjure in her mind.

Alex burrowed against her side, closing her eyes with a soft smile on her face.

"I'm glad I have you and them instead of you and a dad," she said. "It's funny when they nearly accidentally kill me all the time."

"That's a really lovely thing to say, Al', just maybe not tell anyone else that. Like your teachers, yeah?"

She sighed, "I'll add it to the list."

* * *

**The Sherlock and Mycroft almost killing Alex thing will be a fun future chapter.**

**See you on Sunday for Exception and the new episode!**

**Thanks for reading,**

**Please review,**

**Abby**

**X**


	18. Nursery

**Disclaimer: I do not own Sherlock or anything related to the show. All rights go to the BBC. I own Alex :)**

**Author's Note: I wanted to post this today so I could say happy 3rd birthday to Exception! It's taken over three whole years of my life and I don't regret a second!**

**Also, beautiful new artwork on the Exception Instagram page (exception_fanart) by Speak No Iniquity and on the Tumblr page (alessandraholmes) by emilybrock101! Check it out!**

**In this chapter, I wanted to explore the 'I don't know what the hell I'm doing' thing Sherlock would have had to deal with when Alex was little considering he was only young himself and well, Sherlock. Alex also could seem a little OOC with her shyness but I think the events that happen here change that and made her more into the confident girl she is.**

* * *

_Alex is three._

* * *

It was tomorrow. The date had been circled on all three calendars in all three houses - even though Sherlock often forgot about his. Big red pen. First Day. Alex stood staring at it, trying not to let herself feel too disappointed that it was Mycroft's handwriting she was reading. He said she wouldn't have to go to nursery but there it was on the calendar.

The sick feeling had been hanging over her all day, resulting in her not being able to summon the motivation to get dressed and instead stayed in her pyjamas. The top was light blue with a transfer of a snowflake in the middle, the bottoms white with blue snowflakes. And fluffy. That was the best part in Alex's opinion. But even they couldn't make her feel better.

She was scared, and she didn't know what to do about it. Usually when she was scared, she went to either her mum, Sherlock or Mycroft, but what could they do this time? They were the ones making her go in the first place!

She swallowed and set her jaw, ignoring the pulling down of the corners of her mouth.

"Just have to do it," she murmured, and left the kitchen to go to her bathroom.

No one else shared her bathroom so it had been decorated for her ever since she could remember, and had always had a step up to the sink so that she could look over to the mirror. She regarded herself. Pushed back her hair. Alex knew she was pale and perhaps the bright light didn't help but she had never felt as self-conscious about it before. Were other children that pale? She hadn't really seen that many.

Or talked to many for that matter.

"Hello," Alex said to her reflection.

She cringed at the sound of her voice. She sounded like Mycroft.

"Hellooo," she tried again, more high-pitched that time.

It sounded friendlier at least.

_But what do I actually talk about? _She wondered.

Conversing with the adults in her family was easy because they were clever and nice and they liked her and whenever they didn't understand what she was trying to say, they wouldn't look at her like she was stupid because they knew she wasn't. The other children at the nursery didn't know that. They had all known each other for months since the first term began and didn't know anything about Alex.

Would they make fun of her curly hair? She had heard the hairdresser tell her mum that it was a shame her hair was at the stage where it was too curly to do anything with. Alex ran her hand through her curls, admitting to herself that they did stick out strangely and after being cut, it was too short to fit into a bobble and hide.

Alex's face fell.

"This is going to be a disaster," she sighed to herself.

"Alex, I'm back!" Mycroft called from the foyer. "Where are you?"

Alex slipped off the step and stepped out of the bathroom, giving her uncle a smile as he hung up his umbrella and coat.

"I hope it isn't raining as hard tomorrow," he said. "It'd be a shame to have you cooped up all day. Remember the photographs of the garden at your nursery?"

_Not my nursery yet, _Alex grumbled.

"Yes."

"If the weather's nice, you'll enjoy wrecking it, I have no doubt."

Alex looked down at her bare feet, wiggling her toes. Anything not to listen to more nursery talk.

Mycroft seemed to get the message and changed the subject to getting lunch. He made Alex a jam sandwich - not without telling her how unhealthy it was for her - and then said she could eat it in the comfy chairs in his study. _Not _the chair opposite his desk though because she hadn't done anything wrong, as she was adamant in telling him.

"When's Uncle Sherlock coming?"

"About half an hour," Mycroft said.

He had tried to work out why Alex sometimes added the 'uncle' to his and Sherlock's names and sometimes didn't. One of those times he was sure was when she was trying to manipulate them into letting her do something she shouldn't do. Another was when she was tired and losing consciousness. The other, he theorised as it didn't happen often, was when she was scared. That wasn't right.

When she finished her lunch, he put her plate on the coffee table and turned to her.

"Have you been to sleep today?"

"Wasn't tired," she said.

Mycroft pushed some of her hair from her eyes and saw that they weren't heavy or red. So she wasn't tired. And she wasn't trying to manipulate him, unless she was drawing it out, which Mycroft doubted she had the patience for quite yet.

"Is everything okay, Alex?"

She nodded, fiddling with the hem of her shirt.

Mycroft pointed to it, "That means no. You're nervous about tomorrow?"

She nodded again.

"It isn't a punishment, Alex. It just isn't fair for you to stay here while I work and Sherlock and your mother are busy. It'll be good for you to meet some other children your age and… make some friends," he added in an accidentally sarcastic tone.

Alex's voice trembled as she said, "But you said I didn't have to go."

She turned into the chair's pillow as she began to cry, not wanting him to see her tears because she had reached the stage that she was embarrassed by crying. Mycroft immediately reached out and rubbed her back.

"Don't cry," he said rather pathetically, not knowing what to do.

What could he do? Caving in and saying she didn't have to go would send a dangerous message that she could cry and get out of any situation she didn't want to be in. And she needed it, no matter what her opinion. She was three years old and it was his responsibility to do what was best for her, which in this instance meant nursery.

"Hey!"

Mycroft rolled his eyes at his brother's dramatic entrance. Sherlock threw his coat down without looking and swept the crying Alex up into his arms.

"What have you done to her?" Sherlock demanded with a glare.

"Sherlock, don't be ridiculous."

He ignored him.

"You don't cry over nothing, do you, Alex? And why are you still in pyjamas?" Sherlock asked.

"Warm," Alex answered shakily.

"As good an answer as any. Now why are you crying?"

"M'not," she said with a hiccup. "M'fine."

Sherlock was silent for a moment, and then said simply, "Excellent. Come along then."

He picked his coat up with his free hand, draping it across both of them.

"No need to get dressed now. Say goodbye to Mycroft."

Alex peeked over Sherlock's shoulder and gave him a tiny wave and a smile.

"You'll be fine, Alex. I promise," Mycroft said sincerely.

"Of course she will be," Sherlock replied before Alex could. "I'll be there."

* * *

Alex was perhaps stronger than the average three year old but was of course nothing compared to Sherlock. He had to admit, however, the grip she had had on his hand for the past hour was beginning to cut off his circulation. She kept walking diligently until the moment the nursery came into view.

"No," she said.

Sherlock sighed and gave her a tug. She still refused to walk and ended up tipping forwards. He let her go and she righted herself but was still no closer to the nursery doors.

"I want to go home," she said firmly. "Take me home."

"Using that tone won't get you anywhere."

"Please."

"Don't make me carry you."

"No!" she exclaimed. "No, please don't. Everyone will look at me and think I'm a baby."

"Since when did we care what people think of us?"

"You're only here for today. I have to be here forever!"

"Twice a week at the maximum," Sherlock corrected. "Hardly forever. Now hurry up or we'll be late."

Alex caught sight of a little boy walking hand in hand with his mum through the doors. He had a Star Wars backpack. She liked Star Wars, but apparently so did Gregson at the Yard and they didn't get on at all.

She took three more steps before she stopped again. Sherlock looked down at her a little impatiently but then felt guilty when he saw how upset his niece looked. He crouched in front of her.

"What are you so scared of?" he asked softly.

"What if they're mean?" Alex whispered.

"You know how to deal with people being mean to you."

But, did she? Sherlock knew she hadn't spent a lot of time around other children, which was the reason for her going to nursery. What if they _were _cruel to her, as they had been cruel to him when he was a child? Now he thought about it, every time someone had upset Alex, she had been with one of the three of them to defend her.

Was three too young to leave her alone to take care of herself?

"Okay, are you listening?"

Alex nodded.

"When you get older, there are going to be bad things that happen to you, either a lot or hopefully only a few. As much as I'd like to say I can prevent all of it, I can't, and when those bad things happen, you'll look back on today and wonder why you made such a fuss."

Alex frowned as she digested this information then looked back at him.

"What bad things?"

Maybe that hadn't been the best approach to take.

"Not for a long time," he assured her. "My point is, I'm sure I was scared on my first day of school or nursery or whatever it was - I must have deleted it - but now I look back and couldn't care less because it is so insignificant."

"Insignificant?" she parroted perfectly. She had gotten better at that.

"Not important."

"But what if people are mean to me? That's important because it will make me sad and I'm sure it will still make me sad when I'm as big as you and I look back because Mum said cruel words stick with you," Alex said earnestly.

"No one can make you upset if you don't let them."

"What do you mean?"

"Give me an example of what you think they might say."

"Um…" a veil fell over her eyes as she started to pick at her sleeve. "They might say… you speak very strange or… your hair isn't very nice or that your shoes aren't nice because they're scuffed on the side or you're weird… yeah."

"Then you say you're flattered they think you care about their opinion and walk away. In any case, you're ten times clever than any of them in there so you have an advantage."

Alex giggled slightly, "That's not very nice."

"Merely a fact. Now is there anything else?"

Alex's mouth twitched to the side as she thought, watching the mother return from the nursery without her son.

"Anyway, I'll be there this morning."

"Okay," she said and took his hand as he straightened up. "I'm ready."

* * *

That morning, Alex didn't leave Sherlock's knee. She had been asked by the admittedly lovely nursery teacher to introduce herself but had only managed to mutter her name through the fabric of Sherlock's shirt as she hid in his shoulder.

"You're not shy, Alex," Sherlock said but she didn't respond.

The teacher, Hannah, knelt in front of her and gave her a smile.

"Do you want to come and play, Alex? We're all really, really nice. Promise!"

Alex shook her head.

"Use words, Alex," Sherlock said.

"_Stop_," Alex murmured.

Hannah gave Sherlock a sympathetic smile, "It's always hard coming half way through the term. Why don't you sit with your uncle for a little longer until you're used to us and then you can come and play if you want?"

"'Kay."

Once Hannah went, Alex turned her face out of Sherlock's shirt and to the rest of the room to watch the other kids. Sherlock studied her expression as she watched them build towers with wooden bricks together, dress up in ridiculous clothing, and a group play with a car and garage set.

A little girl came over to them and Sherlock felt Alex's back press further against his chest as she tried to put as much distance between her and the girl as possible.

"Do you want to play mums and dads?" she asked.

Alex looked at her warily and shook her head. The girl shrugged and joined some of the others in the corner where a cot and kitchen were set up.

Alex turned to Sherlock.

"What's mums and dads?" Alex asked quietly, as if the fact she didn't know had to be a secret.

"I assume it's a game where you pretend to be a family."

"Oh."

"Do you want to play?"

"No."

"Alex, please just try."

Her fingers swiftly picked up the thread on her sleeve and began to tug on it.

"Okay," she said very quietly.

Sherlock rose his eyebrows in surprise as she climbed off his knee and after a moment's hesitation, walked over to the corner where the girl and her friends were playing.

"Hi," the girl said brightly, seeing her standing by the 'door'. "Have you come to play?"

Alex glanced back at Sherlock who gave her an encouraging nod.

"Yes please."

"I'm Tilly. This is Marcus, Becky, Jessica, Josie, Izzy-Mae and Henry," she said, pointing to everyone.

Alex's head swam with names and faces until she started to feel a little sick. She was going to get one of the names wrong and then they would be upset like Lestrade was whenever Sherlock couldn't remember his name.

"What do you want to be?" Tilly asked.

"Excuse me?"

"In the game."

"Oh… um…"

"You can be the mum?"

"No, thank you."

Being a mum was very difficult, especially for her own mother and everyone said they were so alike.

"Dad?"

How did dads act? It was only a game but Alex felt a burning compulsion to get it right or they might not like her.

"I-is there anything else?"

"Dog?"

"I've never really met a lot of dogs."

"Well that's it," Tilly said. "You can't be another little boy or girl because there are too many."

"Can I be an aunty?"

"No sorry," Tilly said, not unkindly. "It's only mums, dads, brothers, sisters, and dogs. That's the rules."

"Why is that the rule?"

Tilly shrugged, "I don't know. You could be a Labradoodle with your hair!"

Alex's finger was turning purple with the tightness of the thread she'd tugged from her sleeve.

"I don't want to play anymore."

* * *

When Alex came traipsing back from the corner and climbed back onto his knee, Sherlock almost abandoned the whole operation.

"What happened?" he asked.

"Just don't like the game."

Hannah came back over upon hearing that, giving Sherlock yet another pitying smile.

"It'll be lunchtime in a few minutes," she said to Alex. "Do you want to come and sit with the other children?"

"No, I want to go home," she looked up at Sherlock. "With you."

"You can't. That wasn't the deal."

Alex pressed her lips close together and tucked her chin to her chest. He knew she was just a few seconds away from crying and wouldn't want an audience of gawping faces, so he stood up with Alex and carried her to the hallway, closing the door on the noise in the main room.

"Alex."

She whimpered, pulling on his shirt to dry her eyes.

"I w-w-want to go h-home."

"You can in just a couple of hours. I promise."

"C-can't I just come with you to Scotland Yard? Can we forget 'bout nursery and go on a case. _Please," _she choked out.

"I'm sorry, Alex," he said, and he was. Hearing her cry over him leaving her wasn't something he had encountered before and didn't exactly know how to react. He had thought three years after she was born, he would have learnt everything he needed to know. Perhaps he had miscalculated slightly.

"You have to stay here for two hours from now," he said in a tone that was maybe a little bit too harsh. He wasn't good at this. "I have to leave and then I'll be back when that time is up. It isn't -"

"I know what you're gonna say and it _is _long!" she wailed. "You're being mean!"

Was he? Should he just take her home or on a case as she wanted and - if he had to admit it - he also wanted? If May or Mycroft were there, what would they do? Would they chastise him for making her cry for so long? Should he have even made her come in when she refused to that morning?

"It isn't long, Alex, and you know it."

"Miss home," she mumbled. "I wanna watch Peter Pan 'cause I found the video at Uncle Mycroft's. They don't have Peter Pan here and even if they did, everyone would just shout over it. It's so loud."

"It is," he had to agree. "But you've got to stay. There's nothing I can do about it."

The look she gave him seem to almost physically hurt. She looked _disappointed. _Not the kind of disappointed she was when he wouldn't let her have pancakes for every meal but the kind that was layered with shock and sadness. She had always thought they were there to _do _something about the things that made her sad and now that was perspective was being proven wrong.

"Okay," she whispered, hooking her arms around his neck.

Sherlock frowned. That had worked?

Not daring to say anything else that might make her change her mind, Sherlock carried her back into the main room. Her grip on his neck tightened slightly as the volume of children shrieking returned but then relaxed.

"Are you staying, Alex?" Hannah asked, smiling brightly.

Alex nodded silently as Sherlock put her down on the carpet. Every one else was gathered around the little table eating dinner but Hannah said Alex could have her packed lunch on the carpet if she wanted to. Alex said she did want to - very politely, Sherlock noticed - but sat with it unopened on her lap.

Hannah dutifully turned her back and helped the other children with their lunch while Sherlock knelt beside Alex and unzipped her lunch box.

"Promise you'll eat something?"

She nodded, "Promise."

"And promise you'll behave."

"Promise."

"And you won't be upset when I leave?"

She only nodded that time.

"I'll be back sooner than you think," he said, dragging it out for some reason. "And then I'll put Peter Pan on, hmm?"

"And have pancakes?"

"If you insist."

"I do."

"Okay. Well…"

_Leave, you idiot!_

"I'll be going."

He straightened up and headed for the door. As he turned to close it, he watched Alex brush at her eyes as her shoulders shook a little.

_Damn it._

But, before he could go back in, she pushed her hair back and took a bite of her jam sandwich. Almost immediately, the girl who had asked her if she wanted to play 'mums and dads' came and sat next to her. Alex jumped a little but after a short conversation, the girls swapped one of their sandwiches.

Sherlock left eight minutes and forty three seconds later when Alex finally smiled.

* * *

"And Tilly's favourite dogs are Labradoodles and they're crosses between Labradors and Poodles and they're really curly like our hair and she said she'd bring in a picture of her grandma's because she has one," Alex chattered from Sherlock's shoulders. "Did I tell you she has two mums? Isn't that crazy? Like, imagine if there were two of Mum? And then I said I have two uncles instead of a dad and then she said we should change the rules of mums and dads so her and Jessica could be mums and I was the uncle and I was Mycroft because there was an umbrella and no one knew why I was laughing so much."

"So no one was mean in the end?"

"Nope. I don't like Becky and Jessica that much but they were okay. Tilly's really nice but she's moving to America next year because she's American and that's why she talks like that. I really like her accent but it's not all American because she's half Spanish."

"Yes, you mentioned."

"Did I? Oh. So what did you do?"

"Not a great deal."

_Being needlessly distracted by worr_y, he grumbled.

"So going to nursery won't be a problem any more?" Sherlock asked, setting her down on the couch and taking the VHS from her hand.

"I'd rather be home," Alex said quickly. "But as long as it's not for long, I'm okay. Tilly said if you start to miss home, you can go in the tree house in the garden because then they don't know you're crying because it's round the corner from the windows."

Sherlock paused, "That's not very reassuring."

Alex shrugged, "Do I have to go back this week?"

"Not until next week. And when they have two more members of staff," he mumbled to himself, making a mental note to mention it to Mycroft.

He pressed play on the video and Alex curled up to watch while playing with her jigsaw board balanced on the arm of the couch.

"Sherlock."

"Yes?" he asked, getting up from his knees and sitting beside her.

"Thanks for not bringing me back when I was crying," she said. "Because then I it would have been a lot worser next time but not it'll just be easy, right? It wasn't easy for you because I was crying and you don't like when I cry, so thanks."

Sherlock blew out a breath, shaking his head and turning Peter Pan up.

"I feel like I should be enrolling you in college, not daycare."

"No, no, not college," Alex said matter-of-factly, chomping on a carrot stick. "They don't have Scrabble there."

"You play Scrabble?"

"Teacher plays with me 'cause no one else can. I beat her with garrotte, and I even remembered the two 't's I usually forget!"

"Dear God," Sherlock muttered, adding _'safeguarding call expected' _to the message he was compiling to Mycroft in his head.

* * *

**With her schooling issues, I think Alex would have had to have had at least some socialisation with children her own age other than Logan to reach the level of confidence she has as she gets older, e.g. in the daycare chapter where she isn't fazed at all. **

**Thank you so much to all who reviewed! You're beauties!**

**Thanks for reading,**

**Please review,**

**Abby**

**X**


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